


Glitches

by Cosmo_is_Beink_Melon



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Sexual Situations, Computer Virus, Dubious Consent, Eden Club (Detroit: Become Human), Enemies to Lovers who are also still enemies, Explicit Sexual Content, Extreme use of the word 'phck', First Kiss, First Time, First time with a man, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Jealousy, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Memory Loss, Murder Mystery, Mutual Pining, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Police Procedural, Sweetness, Virus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2020-12-14 15:54:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 48
Words: 69,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21018356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cosmo_is_Beink_Melon/pseuds/Cosmo_is_Beink_Melon
Summary: When Connor contracts a virus during a routine investigation, his previously dormant sexual systems come online, leaving him confused and desperate. At least Hank's there to reluctantly guide him through this sexual awakening. (And yes, it's as awkward as it sounds.)Meanwhile, Gavin Reed is dealing with his own aggressively interested android partner...a partner he wants absolutely no where near his virgin asshole.OR: Cosmo writes the obligatory Eden-Club-virus-story, with some unique flair!





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh! My first ever time writing a Hankcon and Reed900 story. I'm SO excited to be sharing this with you. I wrote this during a low time in my life and it brought me a lot of light and laughter and happiness. I hope you will enjoy it <3
> 
> The Hankcon is the_butcher_of_clay's fault. The Reed900 is MnM_ov_Doom’s. Blame them for literally everything that happens in this story. <3 I love you guys.

Hank doesn’t remember much from the night it started, but he sure as hell remembers the next day.

He got blackout drunk: the last thing he can recall is kissing his picture of Cole goodbye and pulling the trigger on his service revolver.

_ Click_.

The rest of the night is just a blank void.

He woke up dry-mouthed, aching, hungover, and cursing the fact he was still alive. Of all the nights he should have died…

And then he felt the warm pressure against his back, the arm around his waist, the distinct presence of another person in his bed. Hank’s eyes widened and he winced as the weak light in the room assaulted his eyes.

He’d done a lot of shit while drunk, but bringing someone home wasn’t the norm. Not since his police academy days, at least, back when booze was more celebration than ritual. He couldn’t remember leaving the house, was almost afraid to turn and see who might be sharing his bed.

And then he heard a gentle voice. “Good morning, Lieutenant.”

Confusion morphed into something more ambiguous. Connor. Connor, his friend, Connor, his partner, Connor the android sent by CyberLife turned Deviant revolutionary, was snuggled up behind him. And in that moment, all Hank could do was blink and ask, stupidly, “Did we fuck?”

For a moment there was silence, and then Hank realized he was dressed in boxers and a ratty t-shirt and he could feel the silky fabric of Connor’s blazer. A slight of relief came on then, but he still needed confirmation.

“No, Lieutenant,” Connor said, pressing his cheek against Hank’s shoulder. “You were passed out on the floor again. I cleaned you up and put you to bed.”

Hank tried to produce saliva. His mouth was so fucking dry.

“And then you just climbed in with me?”

“You were crying,” Connor explained. “I didn’t think I should leave you alone.”

“Okay then,” Hank said, because there was nothing else to say.

It doesn’t happen every night. Just on the worst of them, when he dumps the bullets from his gun and reloads one. Just when he goes for the whiskey. Just when he digs Cole’s picture out of the drawer. Then Connor’s there, gently taking away his implements of destruction, and guiding Hank to the bedroom.

Hank always lets it happen.

He feels like he’s taking advantage, letting Connor comfort him like that. Like he’s betraying Cole’s memory, by having someone help to ease his grief.

By the time they are three months into the ritual, Hank’s done resisting. Hell, he’d even like it if Connor stayed with him every night. He sleeps better, he has fewer nightmares, he wakes up earlier and his work improves. Connor keeps him from drinking so much. Connor keeps him sane.

So he doesn’t give a flying fuck what anyone would think if they saw the two of them curled up together in his bed.

It’s weird, but so is life.

Everything changed the night of the Eden Club incident. They’d gotten a tip about a red ice trade taking place, with androids acting as intermediaries.

Hank used to be proud of his war on red ice. After all, it’s what put him on the fast track to Lieutenant. But now it’s personal. Every piece of shit pusher he catches is a tiny victory, a memorial for Cole. If he’s not exactly gentle with dealers, well, that’s just part of the job.

The tip turned out to be a bust. He, Connor, and a couple of uniforms walked that damn club for an hour. Connor did his information transfer shtick with the Tracis. Hank interviewed the human workers. They searched every room in the fucking place.

They left empty-handed.

Almost.

They just didn’t realize it at the time.

Tonight Hank dreams about Cole. He’s holding his son in his arms and there’s _ so _ much blood and they’re in the middle of nowhere. He yells and yells, and his voice gets weaker. He knows there are people nearby, but he can’t get their attention, can’t make himself heard. 

And then Cole dies.

Cole _ always _dies.

And Hank wakes up with tears on his pillow and that warm body pressed against his back. But this time, instead of the silky slide of Connor’s sleeves against his arms, there’s bare flesh. And it’s burning up.

“Con?” Hank asks, knuckling away his tears and turning over to find Connor looking at him, his brows drawn together, deep lines of worry on his face. Connor’s wearing nothing but a pair of tighty-whities, which, if he wasn’t so fucking concerned about Connor, might be funny.

“I’m...sorry for my appearance...Lieutenant,” Connor says, his expression unchanging. ”I came to comfort you, but I got...hot.”

“You got hot?” Hank repeats, trying—and failing—not to _ look _at Connor’s bared body. Of course, it’s android-perfect. Defined muscles and hairless skin. An endless sea of freckles on his shoulders, others on his arms and chest and Hank forces himself to look at Connor’s face. “I didn’t think hot and cold affected you.”

“I can gauge temperature,” Connor agrees, “But, I don’t generally _ feel _hot or cold.”

“Well, It _ is _fucking warm in here,” Hank says. “I can turn on the air conditioner, get some cool air circulating?”

“I’ve got it, Lieutenant.” Connor’s LED blinks yellow and then he hears the sound of the air conditioner kicking on. “My temperature sensors are currently active... but I didn’t turn them on.”

“What the hell?”

“I can’t seem to turn them off,” Connor says, concerned. “When I try, I get an error code that doesn’t match any references in my local memory. If I could access the CyberLife network…”

Going off the grid is all fun and games, until something breaks. Post-revolution, many androids are still suspicious of CyberLife and _ choose _not to engage with the tech company. For Connor, it just isn’t an option. As Hank understands it, CyberLife blacklisted him after he went Deviant.

A lot of sense that makes, since that’s what they fucking designed him to do.

Hank lays the back of his hand against Connor’s cheek and Connor lets out a small groan.

“That feels nice.”

_ Nice. _

“You remember when you told me that you ‘liked’ the Knights of the Black Death because the music had ‘energy?’” It was one of Connor’s more obvious social-relations gambits. _ I like dogs… I don’t listen to music, but I’d like to… _A bunch of bullshit designed to make Robot Connor fit in.

Of course, he’s Deviant now, capable of interests and preferences, even if he’s still sorting out what those are. 

Connor frowns deeply as he tries to explain.

“Your hand is… cool… and I feel… hot… So your cool hand is bringing me…” He falters, his LED spinning yellow.

“Relief,” Hank supplies and Connor nods. Hank’s never known him to not have just the right word.

“But that’s only one factor. I also enjoy that it’s..._ your _ hand, Lieutenant.”

“As opposed to whose? Gavin’s?” Hank laughs at his own joke, but Connor’s face remains serious.

“Anyone else’s.”

Hank feels like someone’s reached into his chest and squeezed his heart tight.

With some trepidation, Hank strokes the back of his pointer finger over Connor’s cheek. He turns unconsciously into the contact.

Connor groans low in his throat and his eyes flutter closed. “_Hank…_” He starts to kiss Hank’s knuckles. “I don’t know… what’s…” And then his eyes fly open and he sits straight up in bed, the movement knocking Hank's hand away. He hunches forward, remorseful. “Lieutenant… I… I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s happening…”

“It’s alright, kid,’ Hank says on a shaky breath. _ Jesus fucking Christ. _He can still feel the ghost of Connor’s lips against his skin, cool and haunting.

“I think you’ve got a...fever?’ Hank doesn’t know what else to call it. Connor’s burning up and acting strangely. “I’d get the thermometer but I’m damned if I know what temp you’re supposed to be.”

“My HUD is throwing errors left and right. Um… Hank. Could you…?”

“What?”

“Could you turn away for a moment?”

Connor’s face is flushed scarlet and he licks his lips nervously.

“I mean...sure?’ Hank says shortly, but doesn’t move.

“I’m in a predicament that I’d prefer you not see.”

“The fever?” Hank asks. “It’s fine, Con. We’ll get you in a cold shower, that’ll help get your temperature down until we…” When he puts a hand on Connor’s shoulder, Connor actually jumps.

“I...no...it’s just…” Connor huddles further in on himself. “I...don’t understand what’s happening to me and…”

And then it hits Hank all at once.

The way Connor’s holding his body, hunching over like his stomach hurts. Except Connor’s not complaining about that. It’s a rite of passage for every red-blooded male and holy _ shit _, even though Connor’s blood is blue, now it’s happening to him.

“Hey, Connor?" Hank asks gently, trying to keep his voice steady. He’s gonna feel like an ass if he’s wrong about this.

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“Are you aroused?”

If it’s the fever making Connor’s cheeks burn, then embarrassment adds another layer of color. He glances at Hank over his bare, freckled shoulder, still holding himself like someone just socked him in the gut.

“This has never happened to me before. I… don’t know what to do.”

Christ. Fuck.

“Can you please help me?” He begs. “_Please? _”

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes Cosmo blush and swoon! Please consider letting me know what you think. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the first of the short bonus chapters that post each week alongside the Hankcon. These are written from Gavin’s POV and follow him as he’s body-slammed and over-the-shoulder thrown into a RoMaNtiC (???) relationship with his murderbot partner. They aren’t necessary to enjoy the main plot, but I (in my totally-not-at-all-biased opinion) think they’re pretty phckin' fun. <3 Please enjoy this dumpster fire!

**-BONUS-**

Gavin Reed is celebrating his first day off in almost a month. By sleeping. On his face. Bare ass naked. In a sea of pillows. 

He’s gotten up exactly one time in the last 12 hours and that was to take a piss and finish off the beer he’d left sitting on the edge of the tub. Then he fell back into bed and slept some more. It’s the most glorious phcking feeling—having nowhere to be and not goddamned reason one to put on pants. And he’d have gone on enjoying it for another hour or so if not for every piece of shit electronic device in his house going off at the exact same phcking time.

His phone begins to ring, his television blasts from the living room, the radio in the bedroom (with Bluetooth speakers in the kitchen) begins to play _ two _ different songs on max volume. Hell, even his watch starts to buzz. And the cacophony has him jumping straight out of bed and snatching his gun out of the holster slung over his bedpost. 

“The phck?!” Gavin shouts, sure he’s going to go deaf.

And then he hears a voice coming from the speakers of the phone he _ definitely _ didn’t answer.

The voice of the Devil Himself. Evil Incarnate. The Great Plastic Hellspawn.

R-phcking-K-phcking-9-whothephckcares.

The _ android. _

_ His _ android partner. If you can even justify calling a _ machine _ formed from the blood of the Ancients and molded to look like _ Connor _(of all the goddamn dumbass faces on the planet) a partner.

“Detective Reed.” RK900’s voice is somehow still audible over the cacophonous squawk and screech and wail of every other electronic device in his apartment. “You have twelve minutes to get dressed. If you are not dressed when I arrive, I will dress you. If you resist me, I will forcibly drag you down the stairs and outside, where the population of Detroit may gaze upon your naked form and mock you as they see fit.”

Gavin’s face contorts in rage as silence falls in his apartment. The gun trembles in his hand and he considers shooting_ something _just to relieve his explosive fury. Preferably the android. But...he’s tried that before and he got a (luckily lukewarm) coffee dumped in his lap for his troubles.

So instead he holsters his gun, shouts out a string of curses that make his neighbor bang on the wall (Oh, you phcking hate that? But somehow you didn’t mind the zillion decibel explosion of sound that just took place?!), and stomps toward the bathroom to shower.

Whatever the phck has interrupted his day off, Gavin’s going to make damn sure _ someone _suffers for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes Cosmo blush and swoon! Please consider letting me know what you think <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get awkward AF.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously THANK YOU guys. This has been some of the BEST reception to a story I’ve posted, well, EVER. You’re all REALLY GD kind and I just...well...it means a lot to me!

Hank helps Connor into a chilly shower, keeping his eyes trained on Connor’s distressed face. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d seen another guy’s junk, of course. You don’t share a locker room with a bunch of cops and not catch an eyeful from time to time. But Hank can say honestly that he’s never _ wanted _to look before.

He tells himself it’s just curiosity.

Connor looks as real as any human, it’d follow that his...southerly regions...would be realistic, too. But the kid’s upset enough already, he doesn’t need to be ogled like some sort of freak.

Hank takes a seat on the closed commode, accidentally catching an eyeful of bare ass. His cheeks get hot.

“Are you sure this will work?” Connor asks as he pulls the shower curtain shut. His silhouette is clearly visible through the sheer fabric and Hank drops his gaze to his clasped hands. His knuckles are white. “Lieutenant!” Connor cries. “This water is freezing, It’s...awful.”

_ Awful. _

Connor’s been a Deviant for a few months now, ever since the night of the Revolution. But he’s still learning. Even when he expresses preference, his words are usually mild. Things like: _ I like… I dislike… I want… I need… _

_ It’s awful _is a new one.

“That’s the point, kid. When you’re hard up and you don’t have a helping hand, you take a cold shower. It should do the trick.”

There’s a long pause, and then Connor says quietly. “It...isn’t working.”

Hank takes in a deep breath. He’s too fucking sober for this.

“Just stand there a little longer.”

If it doesn’t work then he’s going to have to… _ Fuck_. Is this really his life? He’s going to have to _ walk Connor through the mechanics of jerking off. _ It’s already the most awkward fucking situation he’s ever been in, teaching his android to masturbate would raise it to a new realm of embarrassing. 

Minutes tick by and Hank starts to sweat because he knows—_knows_—it isn’t working. Something’s wrong with Connor, and that thought wars with his awkwardness about the situation.

“You still throwing errors?”

“Y-yes,” Connor says, and honest-to-God, his fucking teeth are chattering.

“Okay,” Hank finally says. “Why don’t you go ahead and, y’know, turn the water to warm.”

“B-but your tr-trick, Lieutenant.”

“Is obviously a bust. Warm up, before we’ve got a whole new set of problems to deal with.”

The knob squeaks as Connor turns on the hot water and the sound he lets out as it starts to steam is almost lustful, a deep, guttural groan. Hank wets his lips and—_goddammit_—looks up. With Connor turned to face into the spray, the _ evidence _ of his arousal is, well, pretty prominent.

Connor lets out a long sigh and then, like he’s talking about the fucking weather, says casually, “Lieutenant? You mentioned a ‘helping hand’ earlier.”

“Yeah?” Hank asks suspiciously.

“Do you…” Connor pauses for so long Hank wonders if he’s lost his train of thought. When he speaks again, his voice is slightly strained. “Do you often have someone to assist you when you’re in this predicament?”

Oh shit.

Oh fuck.

Oh dear _ God_, he’s too old for this.

He forces normalcy into his voice.“Not for a long time, kid.”

“Good.”

_ Good. _

_ Good?? _

._..Good. _

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Hank asks gruffly. He didn’t realize Connor was a little sadist who _ liked _ the thought of Hank all alone, with no company but his whiskey and his dog. He glowers at the curtain, no longer caring what he can see.

“It means…” Connor’s voice is quieter now. “I like that it’s just you and me. If you had a ‘helping hand’ that became special to you, you might not need me to sleep alongside you anymore.”

Hank’s lips form an _ oh_, but it doesn’t leave his mouth. He feels… He _ feels _… Christ, he doesn’t even know what he feels.

“Do you have any other ideas?” Connor asks and it takes Hank a second to realize what he’s talking about. Yep. He’s got one, but fuck if he’s doing it totally sober.

“Uh, stay there, I’ll...be right back.”

And then he stands up and walks into the kitchen, straight for the Black Lamb. No fucking beer tonight. If he’s really going to teach Connor the mechanics of…_that _…then he’s going to need a bit of the hard stuff. He doesn’t bother with a glass, just tips back the bottle and takes three large gulps.

“Are you drinking, Lieutenant?” Connor’s voice carries down the hallway.

Christ. Kid doesn’t let up for a second, huh?

A smile touches Hank’s lips and he caps the bottle. Three oughta do it. He walks back to the bathroom, carrying with him a warmth that’s got as much to do with Connor as with malt whiskey.

“Lieutenant?”

“Look, if we’re gonna do this, I’mma need you to not call me Lieutenant. Makes it weird.”

“You don’t mind if I use your first name?”

“Jesus, Connor, you sleep in my bed three nights a week. Yes, call me Hank.”

“Alright...Hank,” Connor says. “What now?”

Hank leans against the wall, shifting to find a comfortable position, and crosses his arms over his chest. The alcohol is whispering in his veins. But Hank’s a heavyweight champ of hitting the bottle, and so it doesn’t affect him like it used to. Still, he feels alright. Alright, going on good.

It’ll be someone else saying these words, he decides.

“You understand the concept of masturbation?”

There’s a pause and then Connor replies, “Stimulating one’s genitals erotically, exclusive of intercourse, either manually or by instrumental manipulation.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, did you just quote the dictionary?”

“I...paraphrased it.”

Hank splutters with laughter. “_That. _That was paraphrased?”

“The definition also mentioned that the act is often accompanied by sexual fantasies. I’ve...never had a sexual fantasy before, Hank.”

“Okay, I take it back: don’t say my name.” _ It’s sounds too goddamn erotic tacked on the end of a sentence like _that one.

“Is that what we’re going to do? Masturbate?”

He’s in the deep end now. Hank closes his eyes.

“_You’re _ gonna_. _ I’m just gonna talk you through the basics and then I’m going to give you some privacy. You don’t really need the fantasy stuff, not when you’re... _ that _ turned on.” Christ, how the shit is he supposed to describe this? “Pretty much, you’re gonna grab your dick and...stroke.”

Hank turns his face away so he can’t see Connor take himself in hand.

“Alright.”

“Well, then you do that until you, y’know, blow your load.”

“How long should it take?”

“I dunno, I’ve never timed it. Somewhere between forty-five seconds and five minutes depending on how close you are.”

Connor sounds uncertain as he says, “I’ll try, Han—Lieut—I’ll try.”

Hank slips out of the door and closes it, leaning against it like the door can really protect him from all the crazy happening on the other side. His android is jerking off. _ Hank _just gave Connor instructions in jerking off. He really should go put on the game or something, block out the noise. Except there’s no noise, only the shower.

No groans. No moans. No wet fwapping sounds.

Hank thinks about all the nights Connor has climbed into bed with him. All the nights he’s held Hank and let him cry. All the mornings after without a word of judgment or censure. All the patience and friendship Connor has shown him.

Silently shouting at himself, Hank opens the door and pops his head in.

“Everything going okay?” And then he sees the barely-hidden silhouette and… “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Stroking myself,” Connor answers unsteadily. “But I’m not sure I’m doing it right.”

“Well, since it looks like you’re goddamn _ petting Sumo_, I’m going to say you’re not fucking doing it right.”

Connor stills and turns to look at Hank through the translucent curtain. “You’re...watching?”

“I’m _ instructing,_ Connor. You’re...petting yourself. You gotta grab it. Firmly. But, uh, not too hard. Take it in hand like you’d grab a doorknob.”

“Should I turn?”

“Fuck! No! Don’t turn… I mean… when you reach the next level you might get a little wrist action in there but… never mind. Just take your dick in your hand.”

Connor does and Hank draws in a sharp breath.

“Now stroke. Uh, God, like you’re churning butter? Plunging? I guess? Oh, did you grab body wash or something? You’ll want to make it slick.”

Suddenly Connor’s outline crumples and Hank immediately stumbles forward, afraid this weird fever has downed him. He rips back the shower curtain. But Connor hasn’t collapsed. He’s just squatting, hugging his knees. Water pelts his back. His skin is flushed from the heat. His voice is muffled when he says, “Thank you for trying to assist me, Lieutenant. I… will handle this on my own.”

Translation: _ You’re doing a shit-ass job explaining this and you’re not exactly being patient, Hank. _

“I did a web search and there are 142 million recommended videos online that contain the word ‘masturbate’—even more if you add euphemisms. I can download a few and try and figure it out myself.”

“No.” Hank’s voice is resolute and Connor looks up at him, water streaming down his handsome face. Hank crouches down by the tub. “Don’t do that. There’s a lot of nasty shit on the Internet.”

If only CyberLife had a manual for _ this_...

_ CyberLife_. The error! Connor’s been blacklisted, but there’s at least one other android they know who should have full permissions. The RK900, Richard. He can get into the tech company’s databases, and figure out what the errors mean and how to handle them.

Hank quickly relays his plan, reaching over and cutting the water as he does. Connor immediately shivers, cold despite the accumulated heat in the bathroom. Hank reaches for one of the few clean towels and hands it to him.

“Richard almost certainly _ could _ help,” Connor agrees slowly and Hank feels a big fat ‘but’ coming on. “But…”

“You’re embarrassed?”

Hank turns his back as Connor stands up and starts to towel himself dry.

“It is an embarrassing situation, but it isn’t that. I...am still aroused and I’m afraid I will continue to be aroused until the situation is relieved. You don’t want me to search the Internet. So, what should I do, Lieutenant?”

With a heavy, defeated sigh, Hank says. “I’ll teach you.” When Hank glances back, Connor’s look is rightfully dubious and Hank gives a rueful chuckle. “What I mean is… I’ll show you. How. To. ...yeah.”

“You’ll demonstrate?” The tips of Connor’s ears are red.

“...Yeah.”

“On...me? Or… yourself?”

“Christ, kid. Can we just not fucking _ talk _ about it? We’ll...figure it out. Um… just… go get in the bed and I’ll—” 

—_down the rest of the Black Lamb_.

As if Connor is a mind reader, he says, “Please don’t drink anymore tonight, Lieutenant.”

The whole thing would go a lot smoother if he was drunk. _ Fuck. _ But what is he supposed to say when Connor asks so earnestly, Sumo-esque with those goddamn puppy dog eyes?

“Alright,” Hank agrees. 

There’s a buzzing in Hank’s ears, a distant echo of his sense of self-preservation calling out for help. Because he tells himself he’s just doing a good turn for his partner, that it’ll be better than shoving a porno in his face and handing him a box of tissues, but the heat pooling in his belly and the thought of _ manually instructing Connor in self-gratification _ says...yeah, not so much, old man.

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes Cosmo blush and swoon! (*^///^*) Please consider telling me what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Local garbage man gets what he deserves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! It’s Sunday, you know what that means! Bonus Reed900 chapter! <3 I hope you’ll enjoy!

**-BONUS-**

Gavin Reed storms into the DPD, ignoring the slew of citizens waiting in the lobby and the two plastic princesses working the reception desk, barely slowing enough for the scanner to register his credentials and allow him to pass through the door. Oh yessir, that’s right. He’s easily angry enough to walk straight phcking through a sheet of glass. He’ll use the shards to stab his “partner” (2000% air quotes) in his demon face. Won’t look so pretty then, will he?

_ Goddamn phcking piece of flaming shit. _

“Where the phck is it?!” Gavin snarls at Miller. The man’s standing next to his desk looking over a report. He looks up, surprised, and starts to open his mouth, but Gavin bulldozes on. “I know it’s here, don’t even try to cover for it.”

“‘It?’” Miller repeats with a cocked brow. He sets down the report and gives Gavin a look that asks, _ are you sure you’re okay, man? _ “Which particular _ thing _are you referring to, Gavin?”

“I’m talking about that shitbag ball of wires wrapped in silly putty. That _ unholy creature _you call ‘Nines.’”

“Didn’t you give him that nickname?”

“Where! Is! He?”

Gavin doesn’t care that his voice carries.

He doesn’t care that Fowler looks up from the desk inside his glass castle.

He doesn’t care that all the uniforms, flesh and plastic alike, are staring.

All he cares about is finding the RK900 and putting a bullet right between his eyes for ruining Gavin’s one and only precious day off.

The hand on his shoulder makes him jump about a foot off the ground, and he goes straight for his weapon, only to have his arm pinned behind his back. He’s mercilessly shoved against Miller’s desk, and he fights with his free arm, but that’s easily caught and pinned as well. “What the phck—?”

“I hear you’re looking for me, Detective Reed.” The hellspawn tincan murmurs in his ear. Gavin has never heard anything more obnoxious and infuriating than the sound of the android’s cold, clipped tones. “Stop harassing Officer Miller and disturbing the others.”

“You _ motherphcker_,” Gavin hisses, struggling hard against the grip on his arms. And Chris, phcking traitorous robolover, actually has the goddamn audacity to pat the demonbot on the shoulder and walk away chuckling. “You woke me up on my phcking day off.”

“This is true.”

“I phcking got dressed and ready, since you _ threatened me_.”

“It would seem so.”

“And then you DON’T EVEN SHOW UP AT MY HOUSE?” He wrenches his shoulder trying to break free and cries out in pain. “Let me go, you overpriced laptop!”

The android clucks his tongue and his voice lowers an octave. “If I do, will you promise to be a _ good boy_?"

“You phcking piece of shit, I’m gonna—”

Nines lets go of Gavin suddenly and he falls forward against the desk. He pushes himself up and whips around, hand going for his gun, only to come up empty. The bane of his existence is holding it up with two fingers like a particularly rank baggie of dog shit.

Gavin snatches it back, gnawing on a delicious fantasy of making Nines eat the barrel. _Boom_. Wires and sparks and blue blood _everywhere_. But Nines is quicker than Gavin, and this time the coffee he gets spilled in his lap will probably be scalding hot. So instead, with considerable self-control, Gavin holsters his weapon and grinds out between his teeth, “Kindly tell me _why the_ _phck _you blasted your satanic voice all over my house, got me out of bed, and then _didn’t even show up.”_

The smile that spreads over that Connor the Remix’s face is positively malicious. His cold eyes glint with reflected light from what’s coming through the lofted windows. He holds out his hands like a benevolent king bestowing his kindness on peasants.

“Didn’t you tell me to ‘get a phcking sense of humor’ when you left me at the Fredericks crime scene last week? The trains were not running and I was unable to catch a taxi. That was a 37.8 mile jog back to the precinct.” Nines’ chilly voice can’t completely mask his glee. “I believe the colloquialism you should meditate on, Detective, is ‘payback’s a bitch.’”

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes Cosmo blush and swoon! (*^///^*) Please consider letting me know what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor needs a helping hand. Wait! Hank's got hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys...seriously...your kindness is *overwhelming* in the best sort of way. <3 I'm sitting here, and I'm blushing bright-red as I re-read the response this story has received so far. Thank you so much for your support and I hope you will enjoy today's chapter!!

Connor’s back is to Hank when he walks into the room and it makes this whole thing...easier. Somewhat. Kinda. Alright, not even a little bit. Because Hank has to… And he doesn’t know how… Well, he knows_ how_, he’s just never done it with anyone else around. Never demonstrated. 

Or...there’s the other, more intimate option. He could be that ‘helping hand’ for Con. 

With trembling hands, Hank unties the knot on his robe, wondering why the hell he put it on, only to walk fifteen steps across the hall and take it off again. It’s not like he’s naked underneath. Clean undershirt and boxers.

_ Should _ he be naked? The discarded towel on the floor tells him that _ Connor _is.

Connor...underneath the comforter...is naked.

And hard up.

And Hank promised to _ demonstrate_. While sober. Demonstrate _ while sober_.

He hangs up his robe on the back of the door and says quietly, “I’m gonna get in bed now.”

Connor nods his damp head, but doesn’t turn over or say anything. Hank slips under the covers. For a moment, there is a sea of space between them. They’re just two bodies occupying the same plane. But then, Hank scoots forward at the same time Connor scoots back and suddenly they’re spooned together.

In the whole time Connor has been climbing into his bed, Hank’s never been the big spoon. He always wakes up with his back against the hard lines of his android’s body. But Hank likes this, he likes wrapping his arms around Connor, which he does, and likes being pressed against him, which he is.

Connor makes a little noise and pushes his hips back against Hank who groans in misery and pleasure. He’s _ trying _to be professional about this. He’s failing worse than when he flunked his first driver’s exam.

He’d convinced himself that the arousal he felt waking up with Connor in his bed was just good ol’ fashioned morning wood. Would have happened if anyone (short of Gavin Reed) was laying next to him. But… maybe that’s a pretty lie.

“Are you…?” Connor asks, his voice quietly excited, hopeful. It’s fucking adorable.

“Yeah, seems so.”

“Are you going to…?”

He’s been mulling it over for a while, _ what _ exactly he’s going to do, but laying here, now, it comes to him and Hank, with a knotted gut and a bit of shame, reaches around and gently takes Connor’s wrist.

“Lieutenant?”

“Hank,” he murmurs in Connor’s ear. He slowly pulls Connor’s hand down to where—_oh, Jesus _… Hank swallows and closes his eyes. “Here, take it in your hand like this…” He gently closes his fingers around Connor’s.

“L-like grabbing a door knob.”

“Forget all that shit,” Hank says. “If you weren’t so..._ ready _… I’d tell you to touch yourself lightly, tease yourself until you get hard.”

Connor nods, his hair brushing against Hank’s face.

“But since you’re, um, good to go, we need to get you something to make the slide easier. I’ve got some lotion in my nightstand, I can—”

“Will this work?” Connor asks, gently stroking his fisted hand along his length, Hank’s hand along for the ride. The motion gets smoother after a second and Hank curiously touches the shaft. It’s slick with something and he huffs out a laugh.

“Tell me you’re not self-lubricating.”

“It’s a gel used to help with friction on my biocomponents. I have a pump that produces—”

“It’s like pre-cum,” Hank says. “But there’s a shit-ton of it.”

“I suppose,” Connor agrees thoughtfully. “Will it work, Hank?”

He hasn’t stopped touching the shaft, running his finger lightly along the slickened length. Only when Connor looks over his shoulder, eyes shining in the soft morning light that breaks in through the gaps in the closed blinds, does Hank realize what he’s doing. He clears his throat and replaces his hand over Connor’s.

“Works great,” he agrees, remembering, at the last second, to respond. “So, you’re gonna want to be firm with the pressure—but you can change it up—find what feels good.”

“What do _ you _ like?”

Oh, _ Jesus_. He wasn’t expecting a Q&A session. His face grows hot, but he decides that if he’s going to teach, he’s gotta be honest.

“Depends on my mood,” he says gruffly. “Depends how much time I have. Depends if I’ve already done it that day. Steady and firm’ll get you there. It’s a good place to start.”

Connor follows the instructions, stroking himself with Hank’s guiding hand. Little noises escape him, sounds Hank has never heard come from Connor’s lips. Tight little groans, staccato gasps, moans muffled against his pillow. Hank pulls back his hips, just enough that he’s not tempted to grind himself against Connor’s backside. Okay, that’s total bullshit. He’s still tempted. Wildly, recklessly, insanely tempted.

But he won’t take advantage of this situation.

Connor didn’t ask to go to bed with him because he was _ interested_. He’s got a problem. He needs help. Hank’s the only one he trusts. 

So fuck if he’s going to mess this up by letting his dick lead the charge.

“Can we go...faster?” Connor gasps and Hank buries his face against the android’s shoulder, nodding.

“Anything you want.”

Connor increases the speed and Hank tightens his fingers just a little, gripping him tight like they’re sweethearts holding hands in the park, not one deviant trying to get another Deviant off.

“It feels…”

“Good?” Hank supplies.

“Amazing,” Connor groans. “So...amazing...I’ve never… I feel…” Language seems to fail him and Hank wonders what errors he might be seeing. Are they all related to his fever or are they cropping up because the RK800 model wasn’t designed for _ this_?

“_Please_,” he begs, “Please Hank, I…”

“If you’re getting close, don’t hold back, don’t try to stop it, just spill over.”

“I don’t know _ how_.”

“You feel it building, right?” Hank’s voice is whisper-low and shrouded. He can say anything here. It’ll be hidden, lost, inside this larger experience. It’s just one of those things. “You’ll reach this place, Connor, where you can’t hold back anymore.”

“Y-yes,” he says, “I...I feel it! I feel it, Hank...”

Hank feels Connor’s fingers flex underneath his and his lips brush Connor’s shoulder.

“Come for me,” he says. “You can do this, Con. I’ve got you. I’m not gonna let you fall. _ Come _for me…”

They’re the dirtiest words he’s ever said in bed and at any other time they’d sound fucking ridiculous. But somehow—_somehow_—they reach through Connor’s haze and he arches back into Hank and cries out loud enough that Sumo lets out a short howl from the living room. There’s a great gush of fluid that spills over both their hands. It soaks the covers but Hank doesn’t care.

He just pushes himself up, rolls Connor toward him, and presses in for a gentle kiss. Connor doesn’t kiss back and when Hank pulls away, he sees Connor’s eyes are wide. Though he’s not sure if he has the kid’s first orgasm to thank for that, or the kiss.

“I...uh...sorry. I shouldn’t have...” It’s all he can manage.

Hank promises himself the kiss won’t change anything between them. It was just a moment of weakness.

It’s okay.

_ It’s okay. _

“That was…” Connor smiles brilliantly, his whole face lighting up. “That was incredible, Hank! There was all this pressure building and the sensation was…” His LED spins yellow for long seconds. “I can’t even think of a word! It was uncomfortable and pleasant all at the same time. My core temperature went up, my thirium pump threw so many errors I thought it might explode, and my system software threatened a reboot—but, then it just… I just…”

“You came.”

“I came,” he agrees and closes his eyes, still smiling.

Hank sits up. “I’ll get a rag to clean you up, alright?”

“Wait, Lieutenant?” Connor says, and just like that, he’s “Lt. Anderson” again. “Thank you for your assistance.”

He just barely stops himself from saying, _ anytime. _

* * *

Hank spends the rest of the day on tenterhooks and he sleeps like shit that night. The next morning dawns too fucking bright and too fucking early. He’d gotten about an hour of sleep, his brain trying to contort itself around this whole _ thing _ with Connor, and he’s definitely feeling it today. 

He drags himself into the kitchen where Connor has poured him a coffee, and is making him breakfast and seems generally… Connor-like.

“Good morning, Lieutenant!” he says with the same obnoxious morning enthusiasm he’s always had. “Richard should arrive soon.”

“You…” Hank trails off and slides into the seat, taking his steaming cup of coffee in both hands. He’s gonna need about six more of these before he becomes a functioning human being. After the steaming hot liquid slips down his throat he says,“You contacted him?”

“Yesterday,” Connor says. “He was able to compare the error codes to entries in the CyberLife database, just as we thought.”

“Yeah? What did it say?”

“It’s a virus,” Connor explains. “One I almost certainly picked up from a Traci when we were investigating that red ice ring at the Eden Club.”

Hank frowns and takes another sip of his coffee. “I know it’s early and that I’m exhausted, so maybe I’m not thinking straight, but aren’t you virus-proof?”

“It’s impossible to be completely immune to viruses,” Connor argues as he plates the eggs and hash browns he cooked and walks over to place them in front of Hank. “But yes, my chances of contracting a virus should be so slim as to be non-existent.”

“But you still hit the jackpot?” Hank asks.

Connor shakes his head. “This virus is strange. The Tracis are carriers, but they are unaffected. The virus initializes sexual functions and then takes control of the system at first initialization.”

“But the Tracis are already… ‘turned on.’” It’s a damn good pun for how early it is. “I mean, the virus can’t initialize their functions, because they’re always active.”

“Correct,” Connor says. “Therefore, the Tracis suffer no ill-effects. Also—” Suddenly his LED flickers yellow and he says, “Excuse me a moment, Lieutenant. Richard has just arrived.”

Hank uses the time between Connor going to greet the RK900 at the door, and returning with his evil-looking doppelganger, to Irish up his coffee. He knows he’ll be scanned, probably by both RK-models, but he really doesn’t give a fuck. He sips his coffee guilt-free.

“I assume RK800 has apprised you of the situation?” Richard says and thank God for thirty years of police work, because Hank’s got practice keeping his expression placid—bored, even. Connor _ more _than apprised him, but that’s no one’s goddamn business, except theirs.

“Yeah, I know about it.”

“I’ve been doing research and I believe the solution is as simple as a software update.” Richard holds out his hand, the flesh melting away to reveal the rigid white skeleton underneath.

“Aren’t you afraid of catching what he’s got?”

Richard’s smile spreads wide across his face, but it doesn’t even approach his eyes. He tilts his head slightly, restricted by the height of his collar. “While my predecessor functions relatively well, albeit, with a few limitations, my design improved on his greatly. I’m bigger, faster, stronger. I have more processing power, can sustain more damage before a critical shutdown, and my firewalls _ cannot _be breached.”

“Con here was just telling me nothing is totally immune.”

Richard raises an eyebrow and lets out a derisive snort. God, Reed and this fucker deserve each other. 

“Nothing short of the RK900 model, perhaps,” Richard says. “I am as perfect in design as is possible, given the limitations of my human creators. So, no, I’m not ‘afraid’ of catching the virus.”

“So, you’re just gonna—?” Hank starts, and Connor steps forward, grabbing hold of Richard’s hand. For a moment, the two androids go perfectly still, their white skeletons touching, eyes flashing blue with information, their LEDs processing—yellow, then red, then yellow again, in tandem.

Then finally they break, stumbling back from each other.

Richard’s brow furrows and he looks at Hank with a new level of disgust. “You...manually stimulated RK800?”

“Fucking hell, Connor—!”

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant, it was an unavoidable part of the information transfer.” But when he says this, he glowers at RK900.

“I swear to God, Richard, if you breathe a word of this to Gavin—”

“If you think that Detective Reed and I have the sort of relationship where we casually gossip about our coworkers, then you are sadly mistaken,” Richard says. “RK800, install that update I gave you and you should be fine within the hour.” And to Hank, he says, “Department policy strictly bars fraternization between partners. Try to resist using the android for your own gratification. If you have a predilection for androids, that’s why the Eden Club exists.”

“Get _ the fuck _ out of my house!” Hank bellows and would bodily throw him out the door if Richard weren’t already striding away. “Jesus, fucking, asshole… I swear to God,” he hisses as the front door slams shut.

Connor is standing very still, looking at Hank curiously.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Connor says. “I’m going to go update my systems. It should take about an hour.”

“Do you need me to do anything?” Hank asks, still trying to shake off the effects of the whirlwind visit from his least favorite android.

Connor nods, taking Hanks mug and dumping it down the drain. “Please pour yourself a _ new _ cup of coffee, Lieutenant. And leave the Bailey’s in the cabinet.”

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes Cosmo blush and swoon! (*^_^*) Please consider letting me know what you think! <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone gather 'round the trash fire and enjoy things heating up!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Sunday! Sunday! Sunday! That means good ol' fashioned <strike>monster trucks</strike> Reed900!

**-BONUS-**

There’s a knock at Gavin’s door and somehow he _ knows _what waits for him on the other side. Maybe it’s the scent of sulfur or the demonic green glow emanating from the threshold. Maybe he just knows he’s got shit luck and a malicious android for a partner. But lookee here, it’s Nines, standing rigid and straight in the hallway when Gavin pulls back the door.

He glares, like Gavin’s interrupting _ his _ afternoon, and not the other way around.

“What’s this? Using the front door!” Gavin says in mock astonishment. “Didn’t feel like breaking my window or punching a hole in the wall?”

Without a word, Nines pushes past him, knocking him back into the entry table.. He heads immediately for the living room.room.

“Well, why don’t you just phcking come inside?” Gavin snarls and slams the door behind him (which gets his phcking neighbor banging on the wall again). Gavin tries to shoulder-check Nines as payback, but just ends up bruising his stupid arm against the immovable body of the android god of terror.

You know what? Gavin’s got _ no time _ for this shit. He makes a detour to the fridge, grabs a beer, and then walks over to the couch. He throws himself down on the ugly cushions. “Oh, sorry, Tin Can, I guess I’m a bad host for not offering you a drink.” He twists off the cap with a toothy grin. “Oh well, I’m sure you could find somewhere a bit more hospitable.”

He waits for the retort.

Or at least the reason Nines saw fit to bother him at home. _ Again_.

But nothing comes.

And then Gavin notices that Nines’ expression is strange. Cool and watchful, disinterested, while somehow still showing the eyes of a stalker. He’s a goddamn predator. At least the lesser RK is toothless. Gavin never knows _ when _ Nines is going to bite.

Gavin holds up his beer in a mock toast. “Since you’re here—and you seem completely disinclined to tell me _ why_—I will take this opportunity to share just how much I hate you.” He throws back the beer, downing it in several long swallows.

“Detective,” Nines says, and his voice rumbles from the back of his throat like low thunder. It makes the hairs on the back of Gavin’s neck stand up and it takes an effort to stop himself from shivering. _ Phck. _

Nines’ light is a solid yellow that flickers red before going yellow again.

“What do you _ want_, roomba?”

Nines takes a single step forward and very slowly licks his lips. Gavin’s eyes follow the pink tip of his tongue swiping across his full bottom lip. That’s when he notices that there’s color in the robot’s normally pale cheeks—a whole helluva lot of _ red_, a flush that goes all the way down to that stupid Elizabethean collar of his. His eyelids are half-closed, darkening his ice-gray eyes to something stormy and raw, and a slow grin, equal parts vindictive and sexual, ( _ sexual?! _) curves his mouth.

Jesus.

_ Phcking. _

Christ.

Wha...what?

“What is it I _ wan _t, Detective Reed?” His voice is the creeping vines of erotic nightmares. 

Nines takes another step forward, tilting his head and looking like he might leap on Gavin and devour him.him.

And then he does.

He leaps.

He leaps and he lands, knees on either side of Gavin’s waist.

Gavin’s beer goes flying.

The couch tips backward with the force of the impact and they hit the floor hard.hard.

And Nines, destroyer of worlds and dreams and days off, is kissing Gavin so hard that he’s pretty sure his shoulder isn’t the only thing bruised. Before he can even get his head around what’s happening, Nines’ shoved his tongue into Gavin’s mouth. It’s hot, it’s wet, there’s no taste.

Gavin flails, he fights, he struggles, and then his penis catches up with the rest of the action. (Oh, hello there!) 

And then Gavin throws his arms around Nines’ horrible neck, drags him closer, and kisses him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes Cosmo *blushsplode*! Please consider telling me whatcha think! <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kissing's good. Kissing's real good <3 And it doesn't have to mean anything...right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Saturday, my friends! *SATURDAY!* WOO! You know what that means? I'm back with a new chapter of these lovely two dorks!
> 
> Also, I have to say, you guys have absolutely *blown me away* with your kind feedback and awesome support. I'm just speechless. All I can do is make this noise as I flail around: Eeeeeeeeeeee!!! <3 <3 <3

_ The damn patch doesn’t work. _

It doesn’t work and not only that, Connor now seems to get aroused as often as a kid hitting puberty. Sometimes mid-conversation he’ll just stand up, go to the bathroom, and come back five minutes later, a goofy smile on his face, only to pick up the conversation right where he left it.

The only extra lesson Hank has taught Connor is how to tuck himself into his waistband when he needs to hide an inopportune boner.

Hank is doing what he thinks is a pretty goddamn good job of pretending everything is normal. He and Connor go to work together, they delve into their cases, Connor gives Hank shit about eating at the Chicken Feed and Hank tries to get Connor to eat a french fry. It’s their daily routine. But they never talk about the fact that Connor now jacks off on the regular or that Hank gave him his first handy.

And they _ definitely _ don’t talk about the kiss.

Hank wishes he could say that it’s done and dusted, but that night’s never far from his mind. He blinks and there he is again, right back in that moment, his hand on Connor’s, helping his friend stroke himself. And he’s stealing that kiss, the touch of his lips so light Connor didn’t even seem to notice. Or, maybe he’s wondering what would happen if he…

That’s the thing, Hank’s a thinker if left sober. It’s why he’s so good at getting shit-faced. A lot of call for drinking, what with the memories Hank has rattling around in his head. But with Connor around, Hank’s drinking...less. 

A lot less, even.

Fuck, he’d even say he’s _ half-way sober _ most of the time lately.

And Connor keeps him there. The stubborn set of Connor’s jaw, his pleading puppy dog eyes, his gentle (and not-so-gentle) reminders, and his warm arms wrapped around Hank on the worst nights. Connor who has hidden, dumped, and even ingested the Black Lamb himself all in a bid to keep it out of Hank’s hands.

Sobriety’s all well and good until there’s nothing to do but think—about Cole, about Connor, about...other things.

“Lieutenant?” Connor says and Hank blinks. Connor is leaning over the back of the couch, looking down at him. Hank has an overwhelming urge to catch his goofy little curl and tug on it.

“What?”

“I asked if you’d like me to start dinner.”

“How about we order some Detroit Pizza and watch the game together?”

Connor considers this. He usually seems to like when they sit together in companionable silence and watch television. But, in addition to mandating when and where and why booze, he’s also been _ on _ about Hank’s calorie consumption lately.

He can see all of Connor’s objections written plainly on his face. “Hey, I’m down seventeen pounds.”

“And to get _ the rest _ of the weight off, you need to continue to avoid places with ‘pizza’ or ‘donuts’ in the name.”

“Christ, Con, you’re killin’ me. You’ve already got me jogging every morning—”

“—Which is why I let you eat at the Chicken Feed.”

“That’s you _ letting me _ eat there? Jesus fuckin’ Christ. It’s the goddamn Inquisition every day at noon. _ What are you planning to order, Lieutenant? Do you know how many calories are in that meal, Lieutenant? Wouldn’t you rather have a salad, Lieutenant? _”

After a stubborn moment, Connor surprisingly relents. “If you promise to go for a walk with me and Sumo after you eat, I’ll order from Detroit Pizza.”

“Are you serious?”

“A full turn around the lake,” Connor continues, “and you can have one large slice of pizza or two medium slices.”

“Anything else, mother?” Hank asks and Connor’s smile catches him off-guard. It’s charming and pleased and Hank stares for a minute at Connor’s upturned mouth. He gets lost in the memory of kissing those lips, making himself all sorts of stupid promises about what he’d give for another chance to taste them.

“Lieu...Hank?” Connor says, sending Hank right back to the last time the android spoke his name. _Moaned _his name, to be precise. And fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck,_ but he’d like to hear it again. He lifts his eyes to Connor’s. “Your heart rate spiked and your pupils dilated. Are you unwell?”

“Nah,” Hank says. And goddammit, he gives in like an idiot, reaching up and grasping that tempting curl. “I’m fine.”

He’s fine.

He’s fine.

He’s...

* * *

Time’s supposed to make things easier, right? Time and distance and the ability to pretend things aren’t weird. And then after a while, things just...aren’t weird anymore. Except that’s not working.

Now, when Connor holds Hank on the hard nights, Hank’s head is full of thoughts of rolling over and kissing Connor senseless.

Hank’s not usually a coward, but he’s pretty chicken-shitted when it comes to telling people what he wants.

And that’s why it might have gone on forever, the desire and the confusion and the unnamed distance between them, if not for the day Connor looked at him from across the couch and said, “Lieutenant?”

“Yeah, Con?”

“I’ve been thinking…” The words hang in the air like cigarette smoke and Hank wants to take a second-hand drag. He tries for patience, fails.

“Go on,” he prods.

“Could you teach me how to kiss?”

Hank spills his beer and has to shoo Sumo away so the dog doesn’t lick it up.

Fuck.

“Never mind.”

“No, not _ never mind_, kid, you don’t get to _ drop a bomb _ like that and then ‘never mind’ your way out of it.”

“You’re...interested?” Connor sounds hopeful and Hank sighs apprehensively. 

“...Yeah. Yeah, I’m interested.”

“You are?”

“Didn’t I just say I was? _ Yeah. I am_.” 

Very much.

Maybe it’ll make things less awkward? (Ah, the lies a man tells himself…)

Connor’s LED processes yellow for long moments. “I thought because you… well… when we were…” He pauses and when he starts to speak again, he’s using full sentences, but there’s still a bit of a tremor in his voice. “You already kissed me, once, after you demonstrated masturbation, but it was brief and you haven’t kissed me since. I thought…”

Hank didn’t realize Connor had given it _ any _thought.

“I thought that maybe you didn’t like it.”

“Fuck, Connor. No—It’s not like that. I just…”

“Good,” Connor says enthusiastically, and he climbs onto his knees, closing the distance between them on the couch. There’s not a lot of time to get shy about it when they both press in, as if drawn together magnetically. 

The kiss is again gentle, and a little awkward. But there have been too many awkward days for Hank Anderson, and he’s _ done _ with that shit. If they’re going to kiss, they’re going to _ kiss. _

He grabs Connor around the waist, and drags him closer. Sumo looks up at them from where he’s put himself in his doggy bed after being shooed away, and gives one low, disapproving _ boof! _before laying his head back down.

“This okay?” Hank asks, hauling Connor into his lap and wrapping his arms around the android’s waist.

“Yes,” Connor says huskily. “Are you alright? Your heart rate—”

“Is through the fucking roof, yeah, I know. I’m excited. Also, stop scanning me. It’s not fair, I can’t see when you’re throwing thirium pump errors or whatever.”

Connor leans his forehead against Hank’s. “I’ve been...experiencing malfunctions every time we sit next to each other. At work, in the car, even at lunch, when we accidentally brush hands.”

God, how fucking sweet do those words sound?

“C’mere,” he says, tightening his grip on Connor’s waist and groaning when Connor wriggles in close.

“You told me not to go on the Internet,” Connor says against Hank’s lips, talking far too much. “But...I’ve been thinking about this. A lot. So, I’ve been studying the couples on television, how they kiss.”

“Oh, yeah?” Hank says, wanting Connor to shut up so he can teach him how to move his mouth, how to part his lips, how to use his tongue.

“May I show you what I’ve learned?”

Now _ that _could be interesting. Hank nods eagerly and waits, patient, as Connor licks his lips and considers his approach.

“Show me, kid,” Hank urges.

Connor puts his hands on Hank’s cheeks and leans in, starting to kiss, then stopping. He tilts his head slightly, as if trying to get a good angle, decides he doesn’t like the one he has, and tilts his head the other way. Then he kisses Hank again and again and again...with a flat press of the lips that reminds Hank _ so much _ of his first kiss with... _ God, what was her name? In the 7th grade. _ Doesn’t matter, but _ goddamn _ it takes everything in his power not to burst out laughing.

He pulls back and Connor frowns deeply.

“Was that not good?” he asks.

“I don’t know what shows you’ve been watching,” Hank says gently, not wanting to be cruel, “but why don’t you let me lead?”

Connor nods.

He catches Connor by the chin, and tilts his head slightly. “Let’s start like this,” he says, and he leans forward, bestowing another kiss against soft lips. But this time he goes a little deeper, kissing harder, more thoroughly, until Connor falls, groaning, in rhythm with him. After torturously long minutes of the kiddie stuff, Hank gently runs his tongue across Connor’s lips.

Connor lets out a surprised noise.

“H-Hank?”

“Part your lips, Con,” he murmurs huskily. “I’m going to teach you some more advanced techniques.”

Connor opens his mouth wide and waits and Hank can’t help it, he bursts out laughing, which earns him a disgruntled frown.

“I’m _ trying_!” Connor says petulantly.

“I get that,” Hank says, trying to get his laughter under control. He holds Connor tightly, so his partner can’t pull away. “Close your mouth, but when I, y’know, with my tongue, just let me in. I want to _ taste _ you.”

He doesn’t get a lot of opportunity to stare into Connor’s eyes. They are a beautiful, soulful brown, with flecks of amber. Another item on the long list of things that make Connor vastly superior to RK900. He’s approachable. _ Adorable_.

Connor nods and closes his mouth and his eyes.

“Alright,” he says. And this time when Hank kisses him, building up pressure and depth, Connor tentatively parts his lips to accept Hank’s questing tongue.

Connor, it turns out, is a natural with his tongue, chasing and tangling, curiously probing. He tastes like antiseptic at first, which is pretty goddamn unsexy, but before long Hank’s own flavor mingles in. And it’s good. _ Really fucking good_. Because now, Connor tastes like _ him_. Like marked territory. This mouth, this tongue, belong to Hank Anderson and no one else.

“Hank…” Connor groans when Hank breaks for breath. He pants and tries to steady his racing heart, reminding himself that this is all just curiosity and practice for Connor, it doesn’t mean anything. But _ goddammit_. 

“Do you like it?” Hank asks.

“Yes,” Connor agrees readily. “It’s exciting. I feel...nervous…but in a good way? But I’m afraid the virus is getting worse,” he insists.

“What makes you say that?” Hank asks, concerned.

“Because I feel the kissing _ everywhere_.”

Hank tries to parse what Connor means, not sure if it’s a language thing or an android thing.

Seeing Hank’s confusion, Connor takes his hand and places it over his chest. His heart is beating fast. Then he drags Hank’s hand lower, to his flat, perfect stomach. “There’s a _ sensation _ in here. It’s…” Words seem to fail him then.

“Like butterflies?”

“Butterflies?” Connor repeats curiously. His cheeks are flushed deep red and his breathing is quick and shallow. _ Breath_. It’s definitely not normal for the kid, but goddamn Hank’s never thought anything was as sexy as those tiny, rhythmic huffs of air.

“Like your guts, er, wires? Are all twisted up inside. A fluttering kind of feeling?”

“Yes, exactly,” Connor agrees. “And...it’s...arousing me.”

“I feel that,” Hank admits. He’d been trying to ignore it, to focus on the kissing, but they’re part of the same package, aren’t they?

“And I feel _you_,” Connor says, glancing down at where Hank is tenting his gym shorts hard. “Does that mean humans feel kissing elsewhere as well?”

“When it’s good,” Hank says and Connor’s smile is goddamn delightful.

“This must be good, then.”

“Fuck yeah it is, Con.”

“Hank?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we kiss some more?”

Hank catches the back of Connor’s neck and strokes his thumb along the smooth skin. He pulls Connor close. “As long as you want. And if you’re game, I’ll show you more, too.”

“There’s more to learn?”

“Advanced class, kid. Turn your head—yeah, just like that.” Hank places his lips to Connor’s earlobe, then takes it into his mouth, sucking lightly and nipping at it. Connor lets out a long, low growl of a noise that makes Hank’s cock twitch. He presses a kiss behind Connor’s ear and then sucks marks down his neck, marveling as the skin there flushes red like a hickey, before blanching temporarily white. Hank doesn’t know what it means, exactly, but he goddamn loves it.

He’s got a wild urge to pull Connor’s sweatshirt—which is really Hank’s sweatshirt—up over the android’s head and teach him how much fun it can be to have your nipples kissed and nipped and sucked—but that’s a step too far.

Hank’s gotta at least _ try _ to keep his head. _ Try _ not to take advantage of Connor’s condition.

He trails his lips back up Connor’s face, to press a kiss at the corner of his mouth.

“Can I try it on you, too?” Connor begs, his eyes fluttering shut with languid pleasure. “Please?”

“God, yes,” Hank croaks.

Connor attacks Hank’s neck with wet kisses, long lathing strokes of his tongue, and bruising suction just this side of painful. But it’s all good. _ So goddamn good_. Hank doesn’t even warn him not to leave marks, because, fuck it. If Connor wants to mark Hank up like property, then let him. It’s been a lifetime since Hank last belonged to anyone, even himself.

_ But you don’t belong to him, Anderson, you idiot. _The voice is sharp and cruel, a reminder that Hank is just there to help Connor. Not to claim or be claimed.

Connor had asked if they could kiss again, sure, but out of curiosity. Even if Connor agreed… well, Hank’d still just be taking advantage.

Because he’s lonely.

Because it’s been so long.

Because Connor looks so goddamn good.

When Connor presses another kiss against his lips, Hank doesn’t move. He should be _ stronger_, goddammit. He’s the one with the experience. He’s the teacher. He’s…

“What’s wrong, Lieutenant?” Connor asks, his voice concerned. There’s his title again, and Hank hates the way it breaks them out of the little world they’d made together.

“Nothing,” he insists, taking a long, deep breath. 

He should move Connor off his lap. He should stand up. He should grab a bottle of beer for each hand, he should go sink into the bathtub and tend to his bruised heart. He should stop _ using _ Connor. He should. He _ should_. But when Connor pushes against him so that they are groin-to-groin _ it’s too goddamn much, who could resist this? _

“I’m not ready to stop, Lieutenant.”

_ Jesus fucking Christ_.

“Me neither,” Hank agrees on a tight, shaky breath. “But Con, I—”

“Please shut up,” Connor says with a smile. “I can’t kiss you when you’re talking,” and he seems so certain as he places his lips against Hank’s.

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes Cosmo bounce around happily! \\(^///^)/ Please consider letting me know what you think!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your dumb decisions have consequences, Gavin Reed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's your weekly bonus trashfire! Served up hot'n'fresh, just got you!

**-BONUS-**

Gavin walks through the blast zone that is his apartment and he glares. Hard. At every-_goddamned_-thing.

There’s a path of destruction that starts with the couch and ends at his bed. Each step is a testament to the way Gavin clung to Nines—_Nines_, goddammit, _ Nines_, phcking android—like a koala on a tree, and they kissed and groped and stumbled and collided with almost everything of value in the place. His shelf is knocked over, the lamp shattered, his swimming trophies and marksmanship awards broken, and the television is cracked. (But, by God, that piece of shit _ cactus _ Gavin keeps trying to drown is still standing prettily by the window, a silent witness to the carnality.) 

The hallway is a sea of glass, a glittering reminder that Nines swept him against the wall, knocking off every framed picture...including his autographed ’35 Detroit Gears team photo. There’s a hole in the bedroom wall where they fell back against the door and smashed the knob straight through. And then there’s his bed. It’s sitting at a jaunty angle because one of the legs broke clean the phck off. And who even knows what the shit that weird cum-like liquid is that Nines sprayed all the phck over the sheets. He’s probably going to have to burn them.

Gavin stares at the mess and thinks, _ phck if I’m cleaning this up… _ But yeah, actually, he’s gonna have to because Nines isn’t here to do it. _ Nines _ phcked him and then left without so much as a ‘thanks.’

Phcked him.

_ P-H-C-K-E-D _ him.

Right in his once-virginal ass, which hurts like a sonofabitch and is still dripping with that demon’s artificial seed by the way.

Gavin should shower. But, oh yeah, there’s no shower curtain, because _ someone ripped it off its phcking hooks _ when they went for round two. And for the cherry on the cake, the vanity mirror is broken, because Nines punched it. For no conceivable reason. Probably just horny malice. And, Goddammit, Gavin wishes that vindictive toaster oven had a mirror of his own because Gavin would punch it repeatedly. _ And laugh_.

_ Payback’s a bitch, _ huh, Robodick?

Gavin plops down on the edge of the tub and the anger in him boils over until he’s shouting curses at the ceiling and kicking the air and, _ shitphck_, falling over backwards into the tub. Landing in _ more _android cum. Because why not?

He lets his head rest where it smacked against the porcelain and stares at the ceiling, dizzily.

His body is covered in bruises and scratches and hickeys and each one of them thrums with a pleasing ache that reminds him of Nines’ mouth and his hands and his dick. Which Gavin had in his hand. And his mouth. _ And his ass. _

If you think Gavin Reed has ever wanted some other guy’s dick anywhere near his body, then you were probably dropped on your phcking head as a baby. Because he hasn’t. And he _ doesn’t_. 

It just happened…

...so quickly.

And it had been a long while since Gavin got laid. (_Thanks for phcking asking. _ ) And so, when Nines jumped on him and kissed him so aggressively, well, it was a perfectly natural physical reaction. Means nothing. _ Will.not.ever.happen.again. _He still hates that tower of wires and terror. And when Gavin sees him again, he’ll goddamn destroy him.

* * *

“Jesus-phcking-Christ,” Gavin groans against Nines’ neck as the android’s cock slips out of him and he lowers Gavin from where he was pinned against the bathroom wall. His head is a swirling mess and his body aches pleasantly. And then he remembers where he is and what he came to do. Which was to goddamn destroy Nines. 

He failed.

Spectacularly.

“I hate you, you plastic prick.”

“Your body begs to differ, Detective Reed,” Nines says with a self-righteous smirk, righting his collar and then opening the stall door. “Clean yourself up before you leave. The last thing I want is for people to know I was with _ you_.”

“With...me?!” Gavin splutters hotly. “You’re embarrassed to be with _ me?! _ I had an _ android dick inside me_, asshole. You think I want people knowing _ that_?”

“So, we’re in agreement.” Nines winks, his smile cruel and cold and sexy as shit, and _ goddammit_, Gavin is so phcking phcked. 

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback gives Cosmo life! (*^u^*) Please consider telling me what you think <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank has a real bad night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very happy weekend to everyone! :) Thank you for joining me for another Saturday update of _Glitches_.
> 
> I do want to warn you that this week's chapter is darker than normal--but it ends on a *hopeful* note! If you're not in a headspace right now for Sad!Hank and his self-destructive behaviors, please take care of yourself and come back to the story when you feel better. <3

“Anderson,” Gavin Reed says as he walks up to Hank’s desk, coffee in hand. Hank barely contains a groan as he looks up at the human shit-stain. Usually, they avoid each other, content to stay in their own little parts of the world. But every once in a while, Reed’s need to be an asshole overpowers his self-preservation instincts and he barges into Hank’s space.

“Did you pay her well, at least?” Hank asks, nodding at Gavin’s neck. There are claw marks up one side and hickeys trailing all the way down to the douchebag ‘V’ of his t-shirt. He looks like he was attacked by a damn animal. At least Hank’s hickeys are hidden beneath his collar.

“_Phck you_.”

Hank feels sorry for anyone delusional enough to get tangled up with Gavin. 

His attention returns to the window where Richard and Connor stand, chatting. Connor is so animated, speaking with his hands, his face open and variable. Richard, by contrast, is a statue, his hands folded behind his back, his expression so fixed he’s practically wall-art.

They’re still trying to figure out this thing with the virus. He watches them reach out and touch hands, their skin peeling back to reveal that strange white shell. Maybe Richard has discovered something, a new update or some sort of android magic. The RK900 is infection-proof after all, there has to be _ something _he can do to help Connor.

A tiny, selfish thought goes through Hank’s head: _ If Connor can turn his functions off, there’ll be no more call to teach him anything_. That’s _ good_, of course. He wants Connor to regain control. But...

“What the _ phck _ do you think they’re doing?” Gavin asks and, oh yeah, he’s still standing there, way too close to Hank’s stuff.

“Trading information,” Hank supplies.

“Obviously, asshole. But _ what information_?” He glowers and rubs a knuckle across the bottom of his nose. “Think they’re talking shit about us?”

“Worried?” Hank asks.

Gavin scoffs and takes a long sip of his coffee. “If I had my way, I’d set ’em both on fire.”

“How is it possible you’ve never been promoted, Gavin?” Hank asks, turning back to his computer. “And what the hell do you want anyway?”

“Well, you and your pet get all warm and fuzzy for android cases. One came through about a couple of plastic kids left abandoned in an apartment. Don’t see what the big deal is, it’s not like they need to eat or anything, but the neighbors complained and—”

“Gavin?” Hank asks shortly. “Why don’t you just do your fucking job and handle the cases you’re assigned?”

“’Cause I’ve got shit to do _ here _ and I don’t want to drive out to phcking East Warren Avenue to pick up a couple of _ dolls _ someone threw away.”

Connor and Richard’s conversation seems to be over and they’re walking toward Hank’s desk. Connor smiles at Hank, but Richard’s face remains placid, though his eyes are drawn to Gavin.

“Look”—Gavin grabs the back of Hank’s chair and bends down, hissing in his ear—“Just take the case and I’ll… I’ll _ phcking _ tip you off about the next red ice bust. I know you miss working that shit. Isn’t it what made you so _ phcking famous _ in the first place?”

“Fine,” Hank says, agreeing only because he doesn’t want Gavin “Mr. Empathy” Reed scaring a couple of kids.

“I’ll send you the details,” Gavin says and then he’s _ gone _.

Richard and Connor stop at his desk and Richard raises an eyebrow. “Did my partner just _ run away_?”

Hank glances over his shoulder. “Seems so.”

Richard blinks and declares in his superior tones, “I told him to wait for me.”

“Yeah, well, what’re you gonna do?” Hank says with a shrug. “Your partner is a piece of shit.”

A tiny smile quirks Richard’s lips.

“You guys figure out what you needed to do for the, uh, virus?” Hank asks.

Connor shifts uncomfortably, looking away just as Richard says, “Not yet, though I’m still looking into the situation. But Lieutenant Anderson, didn’t I warn you about fraternizing with the RK800?”

“I’m not—” Hank starts.

“I’m pretty sure the DPD would consider ‘instructional kissing’ an actionable offense.” Richard actually shakes his head at Hank and Connor immediately splutters an apology. 

_ Goddamn androids. _

* * *

Some nights, Connor goes out. Hank’s never asked where—he assumes Connor has interests outside sitting on the couch with the TV on and watching Hank eat dinner. Hank knows his android has his revolutionary friends, too, and knows he likes to explore the city. He keeps his phone with him, in case Connor needs him.

It’s not like Hank _ falls apart _ any time Connor isn’t around.

He’s fond of solitude sometimes, and when he wants to be around people, he can go to Jimmy’s. He’s getting better at watching the game there without ending up so shit-faced that they have to pour him into a taxi to send him home. It’s been a long time since he woke up on the lawn with the sprinklers going off in his face. Sometimes, he even goes fishing on his days off.

Hank used to love to fish.

Cole, too.

He wasn’t afraid of the fish flopping around in the bucket the way some kids are. He’d just grin up at Hank and say, _ “Dinner. Dad!” _ And Hank’d smile, ruffle his hair and say, _ “We’ve got to clean it up first. But then, yeah, dinner.” _

It was a damn shame Hank and his ex couldn’t work things out. But he’d started up an affair. Not with any woman—nah, nothing like that. With the job. And the job was an abusive bitch. He spent his days with her and his nights at the bar and that didn’t leave any time for his wife. So he gets it, he knows why she left. But when she did, she took Cole with her.

And that meant Hank only had him one weekend a month. His precious boy. It was never enough time.

Those android kids this afternoon… the case Gavin dumped on him… one of them looked like Cole. Not exactly. His hair was red, not brown. But his eyes were the same. Big and mischievous.

Cole was so..._ good_.

Curious and funny. He made up his own jokes. Hank remembers that. They were pretty clever too. But they’re all lost. Hank drank ’em all away, so that now, he only remembers the concept, not the content: _ Cole told jokes. _

What he’d give to have Connor’s memory…

For some things.

Hank is sitting on the bathroom floor, spinning the chamber on his revolver, over and over and over. _ Clickclickclickclick clickclickclickclick clickclickclickclick_. He watches the bullet go round and round and round. He grabs the bottle of whiskey and throws it back.

Hank wishes he could remember one of Cole’s jokes. He gets close sometimes. There was one about a dog...maybe? 

Cole loved Sumo. He loved to lay on the dog’s big furry belly, loved to snuggle against him while watching TV. Sometimes he’d fall asleep and Hank would find them curled up together. 

It makes sense—_another long swig as he blinks away tears_—it’d be a joke about a dog.

He puts the bottle down and spins the chamber again.

_ Clickclickclickclick. _

Hank closes his eyes.

Sumo is scratching at the door, whimpering and huffing out heavy sighs at the gap underneath.

Cole loved Sumo.

And Sumo loved Cole.

Connor loves Sumo, too.

Spin. _ Clickclickclickclick_.

Another swig.

The revolver’s getting awful damn blurry.

Hank’s not drunk enough _ yet _ . Not _ yet _. Give him ten minutes or so and he’ll be ready.

He wonders where Connor is.

Is the kid out practicing his new skills?

He frowns. He doesn’t like that thought. It was _ his _ flavor that brought Connor’s sterile mouth to life. _ His _ neck where Connor made his first hickeys. Hank can’t stand to think that someone else might be kissing his android. He looks down at the gun in his hand, the five bullets scattered on the tiled floor.

He hasn’t lost a game yet. Obviously.

But tonight could be the night.

And if that’s the case… If this bullet’s got his name on it...then who’s gonna teach Connor how to… Christ, there’s still so many things for the kid to learn. He’s only _ really _ been stroked off with his own hand. Hank _ helped _ , but it’s not the same. Who’s gonna stroke him off? Some other fucking android at the Eden Club? And who’s gonna teach him how good it feels to get your dick sucked? And...and what if Connor wants to learn to suck dick. _ No fucking way _is he letting some rando put his dick in Connor’s mouth.

That mouth belongs to Hank until Connor tells him otherwise. Because he had his goddamn tongue in there and then Connor tasted like _ him _.

Hank doesn’t realize he’s loaded all the bullets back into his gun until he hears the chamber snap closed. He looks down at the revolver.

And… there’s more they could learn _ together_.

Who knows what the virus is going to do to Connor, right? Maybe he’ll want to do more with his newly functioning dick. Or maybe Connor’d like a finger in his ass. Or _ more _. 

Hank tries to push himself up the wall, gets about halfway up, and then slides back down ungracefully.

Hell, there’s probably a thousand positions Hank hasn’t ever tried. Er, that _ Connor _ hasn’t tried. Connor. Connor hasn’t tried _ any positions _ , actually. He needs someone to show him that stuff. If he wants. He’s been an eager student so far. Wouldn’t hurt to _ ask_.

But Hank can’t teach him _ anything _ if he’s _ dead_.

So he sets down the gun, realizes he’s been trying to stand up while holding the bottle of Black Lamb, and puts it aside too. Then he climbs onto his hands and knees and very slowly—because the whole goddamn bathroom won’t stop spinning—he manages to get halfway up and then _ fucking yes! _He’s standing upright.

He takes a triumphant step, feels his entire stomach heave, and he pukes up his guts in the toilet.

* * *

Hank’s got a thrumming, pounding, agonizing bitch of a headache the next morning when he opens his eyes. But there’s also a very warm, very_ hard _, android pressed against his back. He reaches back and touches Connor’s hip then lets out a long, low sigh of relief.

“Con?” he whispers, the sound of his own voice like the clanging of a motherfucking gong.

“Yes, Lieutenant?” Connor replies, his tone respectfully low. Without being asked, Connor begins to gently massage Hank’s temple, dragging a relieved groan from Hank’s lips. _ Goddamn, kid _.

For a minute he’s too distracted by Connor’s fingertips to remember what he wanted to say. And then Connor snuggles his face right up against Hank’s neck. He’s _ breathing _ . It’s the strangest fucking thing. He felt it the night he taught Connor how to kiss. Is he breathing all the time now? Hank hasn’t noticed one way or the other, but he feels it _ now _. Warm, simulated breath tickling his skin.

“Can you sleep?”

“I can go into a state of hibernation,” Connor answers quietly. “I analyze the day’s events and extract data from them in my background processes, while also running diagnostics. In that state I’m less aware of my surroundings. It’s not a necessary procedure, but it helps to keep memory access times down.”

“Do you do that lying down?”

“I don’t really have a preference,” Connor admits. “Standing, sitting, lying down.”

“Would you…” Fuck, Hank’s head hurts. He needs a couple painkillers and about twelve more hours of sleep. But Connor feels so good and _ warm _ against him. _ Fuck fuck fuck _. “Would you want to ‘hibernate’ with me...every night?”

Connor doesn’t miss a beat. “Yes,” he says. “But…”

“But?”

“I can’t hibernate when you’ve slipped into an ethanol coma.” Connor’s voice is still low, gentle, but his words are firm. “When you’re in that state, I have to watch for signs of respiratory distress. I have to make sure you don’t vomit in a position where you might choke. I have to—”

“I get it,” Hank says.

“No, Lieutenant, I don’t think that you do,” Connor says. “It’s not just that I’m being vigilant. Or that I feel I have a duty of care to keep you alive. I also..._ worry _. You’re my friend and I…” He pauses for a long moment, and Hank imagines that his LED is spinning yellow. “I don’t want to lose you. I would find it very difficult to hibernate knowing I might come back online to find you...gone.”

“Con…”

“I would very much enjoy staying with you every night,” Connor says. “And, I think I would enjoy hibernating beside you. But how can I rest, never knowing if I’ll wake to find you dead? How can I rest knowing you might harm yourself in the night, and I could have stopped you?”

Hank wishes he could promise nothing like that’ll ever happen.

He wishes more than anything that he could.

But he can’t. Not _ yet. _

Not when the black still comes on like a raging beast, springing out of nowhere, and attacking him, dragging him down. He doesn’t want to promise and then...fail. Doesn’t want to fail _ Connor _.

“I’ve been trying.”

“I know,” Connor agrees.

“But what if…” Hank wets his dry lips and closes his eyes. “What if I promise to _ try harder_? Could that be enough, Connor?”

He feels that brush at the back of his neck. The pressure increases. It’s definitely lips.

“Does ‘trying harder’ mean getting rid of _ all _the alcohol in the house?”

Shit.

Fuck.

_ All?_ Every last drop?

That’s a big, scary thought. Hank starts to shake.

“I’ll help you through it,” Connor promises. “I’ll be here every step of the way.’ He cuddles closer, a warm anchor in a sea of chaos.

“...Okay.”

“Okay,” Connor agrees. “Let’s go to sleep, Hank.”

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes Cosmo a happy lil' dachshund! \\(*^///^*)/ Please consider letting me know what you think <3


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of cactus blooms and exhibitionism.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Sunday! Let's all pretend we don't have to go back to work tomorrow by seeing what the Trashfire Duo is up to!

**-BONUS-**

There’s a flower on Gavin’s cactus. A _ phcking flower_. It’s hot pink and blooming wide atop its prickly throne. The only thing is…? Gavin had no idea that the stupid cactus _ could _ flower. Or that it could be so goddamned _ green._ He chomps down on the inside of his cheek to keep from yelling.

This is Nines’ doing. Phcking android maniac is, apparently, a horticulturist. He’s been coming by Gavin’s apartment _ whenever he goddamn feels like it_, making a mess of things (mainly Gavin’s ass) and apparently—_apparently_—tending to his phcking cactus.

Gavin _ hates _ that cactus.

He once got drunk and dropped it over the balcony hoping it would explode like a melon hitting the ground. It bounced. It bounced and one of his neighbors picked it up, looked up at him with a helpful smile and said, “Let me bring this back up to you, Detective Reed.”

It’s an unkillable nemesis.

Just. Like. The. RK900.

Gavin closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and when he opens them—_motherphcker_—the cactus is still there, with its healthy-looking green skin and its garishly pink flower. It’s in cahoots with the murderbot and they are both _ mocking him_.

_ Alright. _

_ New plan. _

Gavin storms into the kitchen, yanks open the utensil drawer, and pulls out a pair of scissors. He holds them up and studies them in the afternoon light, grinning like a lunatic. Tend to _ his cactus_, huh?! Well… we’ll just see about that, won’t we?!

* * *

“Detective Reed,” the demonic tower murmurs, leaning over the back of Gavin’s chair. He’s so close that Gavin can feel the heat of him and _ god-phcking-dammit _ does his cock _ belong _ to Nines? Because the damn thing just leaps to attention at the sound of his voice.

Gavin grits his teeth. “What the _ phck _ do you want, plastic ass-hammer?”

“Ass-hammer?” Nines repeats curiously, and leans closer, his lips near Gavin’s ear. “I’ll take that as a compliment, given the things I do to _ your _ass on a regular basis, human.”

_ Phck, phck, phck! _Penis! BAD! Stop being interested!

“Meet me in interrogation room two’s observation suite in five minutes.”

“We don’t have anything scheduled,” Gavin snaps. “Idiot.”

“_We _ don’t, but Anderson and RK800 are interrogating a suspected red ice dealer. They should be in there for a while. We’re going to take the opportunity to watch their work.”

Gavin glowers up at Nines who towers over him. “Why the phck would we—?”

“Because the bathrooms are being cleaned.”

“You wanna—?! While they’re in the middle of interrogating—?!” Gavin splutters. “Are you _ phcking _crazy?! You’re certifiable, you busted-ass piece of shit!”

Nines’ smile spreads across his face like a slow-creeping horror. And then he reaches over Gavin’s shoulder to set the cactus flower down on his desk. Gavin grins at his work. The decapitated cactus is hidden in his closet at home. But his smile falls as the tip of Nine’s tongue touches his ear.

“I received your ‘present,’ Detective,” Nines says, his voice like a blast of ice. “That was quite immature. So _ yes_, you _ will _ meet me in the interrogation room, and _ yes_, you will offer me your bare ass...”

Gavin glances around the bullpen, trying to see who might be watching this sexual predator threatening him. Then with the tips of his pointer and middle fingers, Nines grinds the cactus flower into a smear against Gavin’s desk.

“...so I can, as you so eloquently suggested, _ hammer _ it.”

_ Phcking phck phck phck _phck, PHCK!

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes Cosmo BLOOM! (Like a cactus flower??) (◕‿◕✿) Please consider telling me what you think!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor wants to do something _for_ Hank. (Imagine me winking at you.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! <3 Saturday is once again upon us and that means it's time to check in on Connor and Hank and their misadventures with the virus. (*^_^*) I hope everyone's keeping warm! I'm on holiday break for the next week and I'm going to spend my time WRITING, WRITING, EDITING, WRITING, playing some_Borderlands_, trying to survive the holidays, and then WRITING some more. <3
> 
> I want to be a bit schmoopy for a second and thank you all for your kind reception to this story! I'm really honored that you like it and I hope it continues to make you smile because your comments have put the *brightest smile* on my face and the *biggest blush* on my cheeks. So thank you!
> 
> Alright, ramble over... Please enjoy some Hankcon!

“Hank?” Connor asks as they stand at the little covered table outside the Chicken Feed. Hank takes a bite of his burger and considers Connor’s use of his name. He likes when the ‘Lieutenant’ is dropped in favor of ‘Hank.’ He especially likes it because it usually means— “I think I would like to try something new tonight.”

—_That. _

“Any particular thing?” Hank asks cautiously, not wanting to assume. Fuck, he could be talking about bocce ball. Connor’s interests are many and varied. Not _ all _ of them revolve around his dick.

A flush rises to Connor’s cheeks and he smiles coyly. Okay, so maybe this one’s about his dick. Hank grins back.

“It’s been a month now since the virus first took effect,” Connor says, mindful of his volume. Hank appreciates that, given that Gary’s got a mile-long line of customers this afternoon and it’s none of their damn business what Hank and Connor get up to. “Do you think there’s more you could show me?”

Hank takes a sip of his soda and then nods.

“There’s a world of things, Connor,” Hank says. “Things your partner can do to you, things you—”

“I’d like to do something _ to you_.” Connor’s voice is steady, low, and whether he knows it or not, incredibly seductive. Jesus fucking Christ, the sound of it goes straight to Hank’s dick and he’s glad the table between them hides his boner. “_For you. _”

“Jesus, Con.” Hank lets out a low breath, his burger temporarily forgotten. “You gotta say shit like that _ now, _when there’s still five hours left on our shift?”

Connor’s smile is wide, mischievous, and extremely self-satisfied.

* * *

Hank’s been thinking about it every goddamn second since their conversation at the Chicken Feed. Which is incredibly fucking bothersome when he’s trying to work. He’s even grateful for the distraction Gavin and Richard provide when they start bickering entirely too close to his desk. He watches them for a while, a tennis match of Reed’s cursing volleys and RK900’s laconic returns, mostly consisting of raising his eyebrow higher and higher. The match doesn’t last long. Richard ends up physically dragging Gavin off somewhere. Probably to beat the shit out of him.

And then Hank’s back to thinking. Doesn’t help any-fucking-thing that every once in a while he’ll look up and there’s Connor smiling at him from the next desk over. It’s not even a wicked smile. Just sweet and _ excited _and that gets Hank a little excited too.

There’s a lot of things Connor could do for him. A lot of things Hank _ wants _Connor to do.

With his hands.

And more selfish things. With his mouth.

They haven’t kissed in over a week, but Hank hasn’t forgotten how damn good Connor is with his tongue. Probably from licking all that fucking evidence. At least his mouth is self-sterilizing. (Thank God.)

Even if Connor wants to practice _ giving_, Hank still shouldn’t be selfish. The hand would be the easier option for the kid. But the thought of Connor’s warm, wet mouth… It’s been so long since Hank got a blow job. Years. Years and years and years.

_ Fucking asshole, stop! _he chastises himself. Sure, Connor’s eager to learn, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay for Hank to take advantage of the situation.

“Lieutenant, are you ready?” Connor asks and Hank blinks. How long has he been lost in his own head? He glances up at the clock on the wall, sees that it’s ten after six and grins. Shift’s over and they can go home.

“Yep, just let me close out here and I’ll meet you at the car.”

What should have taken him ten minutes takes him six, and then he’s behind the wheel of his old Buick, pretending that he didn’t just jog his ass out of the DPD like an overeager teenager. He puts some music on low, not Knights of the Black Death—that stuff is for starting the day or getting psyched up when they get called out on a job. No, tonight he puts on jazz. A sleepy, lazy come-down.

“I like this music,” Connor tells him and Hank chuckles.

“You say that about everything I play for you. I’m pretty sure you’re just flattering me.”

“No, Lieutenant,” Connor promises with a playful smirk. “If I were just flattering you, I’d also tell you how much I like your black and white zebra shirt.”

“Oh, so that’s how it is?”

It’s been a long ass time since Hank gave a fuck about fashion. Once he started putting on weight, he looked for two things in the clothes he bought: did they fucking fit? Did they leave him enough money for beer? And with those two criteria he built a whole wardrobe full of questionable choices. But now as he’s been losing weight, his comfortable, but not fashionable, shirts are getting too big. He’s gonna have to go shopping sometime soon.

“I don’t mean to offend you,” Connor says. “But most of your clothes are out of style.”

“Well, we can’t all pull off CyberLife fashion.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Connor says. “What would you think if I put away the ANDROID jacket?”

“Thought you liked it?”

“I do and I don’t,” Connor says. “I’ve worn it daily for almost a year. I’ve had to replace my jeans twice, but the jacket is resistant to most wear and tear, as well as being self-cleaning. I wear it because it’s convenient and because it’s all I’ve ever known.”

“Makes sense.”

Connor traces a finger along the embroidered serial number. 313 248 317-55. He’s the fifth Connor model activated and he’ll be the last.

“I’m also not sure I like the reminder of being one of a series. I know it’s my history, and... at least two of those deaths I would not trade for anything.” He doesn’t say as much, but Hank gets it. Connor died twice while saving him. “But maybe it’s time for something new.”

“How about we go shopping together then?” Hank offers as he turns onto the highway. “I’ll foot the bill and you can pick out clothes for the both of us.”

“You don’t need to pay,” Connor says.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hank says. “It’ll be worth the cost to get you out of those damn ridiculous briefs and into something decent.”

“I didn’t realize there was anything wrong with my undergarments.”

“Everything’s wrong with them,” Hank argues. He doesn’t say ‘the fact that you’re wearing them.’ It’s too fucking cheesy. 

“I’ll be sure to go without them tonight.” he says, thoughtful.

“Christ, Con.”

“I apologize, Hank. We discussed having more lessons this evening. Remember? I’m interested to learn what I can do for you.”

“Yeah, kid,” Hank chokes out. “I haven’t forgotten.” Under his breath he mutters, “Believe me.”

“Have you decided on the lesson?”

Hank thought he was ready for this, now he’s not so sure.

“Not...exactly. Kinda narrowed it down to two options. I thought I’d let you pick what sounds interesting,” Hank says. “If you _ really wanna_—and don’t do it because you think you fucking have to or anything—”

“I won’t,” Connor promises.

“—then you might want to try a handjob or a blowjob. Er, you know, stroking me the way you stroke yourself or, y’know, using your mouth.” _ And please don’t ask me for any details while I’m trying to concentrate on getting us home alive, _Hank thinks.

“I’ve actually been thinking about oral sex lately,” Connor says, prompting Hank to glance at him out of the corner of his eye.

“You have?”

“Yes, I recently...saw...the act performed and—”

“Hold up,” Hank says, trying to keep his voice steady. “What the hell kind of television show were you watching?” Hank only pays for basic cable; you can’t get to the good stuff just by using the remote.

“Not television.”

“Con, you’ve already got the one virus, tell me you didn’t go and download porn.”

“I didn’t!” he argues. “I…”

A small knot of jealousy starts to form in Hank’s chest, right under his ribcage. Hank still doesn’t know where Connor goes some nights. If he’s been out at the Eden Club or… Hank’s hands tighten on the steering wheel and he takes a deep breath.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Honestly, Hank’s not sure he wants to hear about it if Connor watched someone getting their dick sucked to a backdrop of neon lights and pounding music.

“No, it’s not that. I just didn’t want to embarrass Richard.”

“Richard?” Hank repeats curiously and takes his eyes off the road for a half second to glance at Connor. “What the hell does Richard have to do with anything?”

“You know that a tiny bit of memory exchange is possible for androids when transferring data through touch.”

“How could I forget? RK900 threatens to rat me out to Fowler every time you two hold hands.”

“The first time it happened, I didn’t see any of his memories. He’s a newer model, it makes sense his defenses are stronger than mine.” Connor pauses for a second. “But when we connected again the other day, I got a flash of Richard’s memory. He was receiving oral sex.”

“Richard.”

“Yes.”

“Receiving oral sex?”

“Yes.”

“What the hell?”

Connor says, “I think he may have the virus.”

“Holy shit.” And then Hank laughs. “Infection-proof, huh? That fucking fraud, acting so superior. I wonder who he found to suck his dick.”

“It’s called ‘giving head’ colloquially, right?” Connor asks curiously.

“Yeah,” Hank agrees and he’s so damn glad they’re almost home.

“Detective Reed.”

“What?”

“It was Detective Reed giving Richard head. In the bathroom at the DPD. It didn’t seem like it was the first time, either.”

All Hank can hear is a steady white noise—like the ocean in his ears. And then he starts to laugh. And laugh. And _ laugh. _ Hank laughs until he’s in tears and he has to pull into an O’Mansley’s Donuts parking lot because he can’t breathe for laughing. Reed. _ Reed! _ That angry little prick that wanted to set both RKs on fire? The self-proclaimed android hater? Sucking _ Dick_.

Hank crosses his arms on the steering wheel and pillows his head against them. Fuck. Guess Richard wasn’t dragging Gavin off to beat the shit out of him earlier today, huh?

“Hank?” Connor says, his voice low and quiet. Hank’s shoulders are still shaking when Connor puts a tentative hand on his arm. “I have a question…”

It takes another minute to get himself completely under control, but when Hank looks up at Connor, all the humor evaporates. Connor has taken off his seatbelt and is leaning into Hank’s space, his eyes on Hank’s mouth, a small smile on his lips. He’s gorgeous.

“Why didn’t Richard and Detective Reed wait until they reached the privacy of a bedroom to engage in oral sex?”

The question should have brought up another round of laughter, but Connor looks so intensely focused that Hank just answers. “I dunno, kid, they were probably just...eager.”

“Wouldn’t they be afraid of being caught?”

“Some people get off on the thrill.”

“Do you…?” Connor asks, tilting his head ever so slightly. His curl slides across his forehead. “Do you like that thrill?”

“I… What’re you asking me, Connor?” He’s stalling, trying to buy time, even as his brain is firing on all cylinders plus a couple extras it borrowed from somewhere. He already knows the perfect, secluded place by the lake where they could park the car. He’d pull Connor into the back seat. They could make out for a while—Jesus, what 53-year-old thinks like this? ..._One with an eager, thirty-year-old partner_—He’d wriggle his pants down to his thighs, then he could get Connor between his legs and… Hank clears his throat.

“I’m just curious if you’ve received oral sex in public before?”

“I mean…” Hank trails off, remembering a bathroom tryst or two with an old flame from the police academy. “Sure. But it’s been a long time. If you _ wanted_, we could—”

“What do _ you _want?” Connor asks, his face close enough now that Hank could kiss him. 

What _does_ he want?

Fuck.

Just one thing: Connor.

In every conceivable way. And he doesn’t give a single flying fuck about the where or when or how.

Hank strokes his knuckle along Connor’s jaw and closes the few inches of space between them. “How about we go home? And after I teach you the basics, if you’re still interested, then we’ll break in the backseat.”

Connor glances over his shoulder, turning his face so that Hank’s lips trail against his cheek. When he looks back, his face is flushed and he asks excitedly, “You’ve never had a lover in the back of your car?”

“Nope.”

Connor absolutely beams.

“And, to sweeten the pot, I’ll even clean out all the trash.”

They press together in a kiss and Hank feels _ home _ in the touch of Connor’s lips. 

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback spins Cosmo right 'round baby, right 'round. (Like a record, baby.) Please consider telling me what you think! <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin attempts to assert his dominance. It goes about as well as you'd think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Looks down at clock* WTF?! IT'S MIDNIGHT?! That means it's SUNDAY! Time for Gavin and Nines!  
(*whispers* Also, where did the last three hours go? ☉_☉ I'd like them back please!)
> 
> ANYWAY... please enjoy the fragrant aroma of the garbage fire that I prepared just for you <3

**-BONUS-**

Today, Gavin’s going to tell the hellbot summoned by the dark mages at CyberLife where he can shove his dick. (And it’s not in Gavin’s mouth or ass!) 

Gavin’s so done. He’s done being phcked until he’s so sore he can hardly walk. He’s done being phcked in random places in the DPD where _ anyone _could walk in and see him taking it up the ass from the android god of malice. He’s done waking up covered in bruises from finger-shaped torture devices that dig deep into his muscles. (No matter how good they feel at the time!)

He doesn’t want it _ anymore. _

But at the same time...Gavin is horny. In the general, all-encompassing sense of the word. A nebulous, persistent state of wanting to get his rocks off. Of course he was horny _ before _this started, too. He’s a red-blooded male, isn’t he? But now he’s an all-the-time, teenage boy-esque, addicted horny. And it’s all Nines’ phcking fault.

So Gavin’s got a plan.

Once he tells Nines to eat shit and die, he’s gonna propose a new arrangement. And by “propose,” Gavin means he’s going to be the one shoving Nines up against the wall. And by “arrangement,” he means he’s going to phck Nines in the asshole until he comes. And by “he,” Gavin means himself. He doesn’t give a shit whether Nines comes or not. (So what if Nines has successfully gotten Gavin off every time they’ve been together.)

He’s not gonna ask. The electronic lord of terror never _ asks_, so Gavin won’t phcking ask either. He’s just gonna _ take_.

* * *

“What are you doing?” Nines asks loftily, one eyebrow raised as Gavin, using all his strength, grunts and continues to shove against Nines’ perfect, immovable body with his shoulder.

“Why...won’t...you...move...you...phcking...piece...of...plastic?!”

“Because I don’t want to,” Nines says. 

After another long minute of exertion, Gavin falls back, panting and glaring. Thoughts tumble over each other. He’s _ got _ to get the upper hand here so that he can come out on top. If he can’t _ shove Nines against a wall, _maybe he can—? Gavin goes for the taser on his belt. It’s a move he’s practiced hundreds of times before, and the motion’s quick and clean as he unclips the weapon, aims, and fires.

In the back of his head, he knows it’s not going to work. Robocock’s got that pre-construction thingie or whatever, right? So he expects him to leap out of the way at the very last second in a move that’s sure to look very impressive. (Yeah, yeah…) What Gavin doesn’t expect is the next-level robot ninjutsu the plastic pile of shit performs—plucking the taser darts out of the air as they fly at him, and then idly holding them while 50,000 volts _ should _be coursing through his body. After the charge is spent, Nines drops the darts to the ground.

Then he looks up at Gavin.

_ Oh...phck. _

Nines is on Gavin in a second, grabbing him by the wrists and spinning him (and shoving him!) so that he lands with his back against the lockers. He tilts his head slightly, his blue eyes icier than ever. He studies Gavin’s face, letting his gaze trail slowly over his skin.

“Lemme go, you motherphcker!” Gavin hisses. “You’re demonic! You should be a melted pile of goo!”

“Hmm.” Nines, Bringer of Doom and Bloodstorms, hums quietly and then presses his body against Gavin’s, using his knee to lever Gavin’s legs apart. _ (Goddammit, cock, why can’t you be cool and recognize when you’re in danger?!) _ “Are you attempting to assert your dominance, Detective Reed?”

Definitely _ not _what Gavin expected to hear. He opens his mouth, but only spluttering comes out.

Nines nips at his earlobe causing Gavin to jerk in pain and pleasure.

“You’re welcome to ‘take the reins,’ as it were, Detective.” There is absolutely nothing in RK900’s voice that Gavin trusts. Less than nothing. Every word is a lie and Gavin knows it—he _ knows it_—but goddamn the sound of Nines’ voice is seductive. “I’ll be over at seven. You won’t need the taser.”

And then he steps back.

“Just like that?!” Gavin demands suspiciously.

“Just like ‘phcking’ that.” Nines smiles like the Devil himself.

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes Cosmo smile liek dis (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.) Please consider letting me know what you think!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor wants to _use his mouth._ Hank finds this acceptable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you guys believe it's almost 2020?! Eighteen more years 'til the android revolution...! While we wait, why not have a little Hank and Connor intimacy? <3

Connor gently guides Hank back toward the bed, kissing him deeply and touching his face. He murmurs incomprehensibly. Hank is putty in his hands.

The evening sun is burning out of the sky, casting golden-hued rays through the cracks in Hank’s blinds. Streaks of light fall on Connor’s face, sunlight catching in his hair and eyelashes. He’s so goddamn _beautiful_. 

Hank wonders how he got so lucky, but he catches himself before saying it out loud. It’s too sappy.

Connor must have made the bed before they left this morning because when Hank falls back, he plops down on the edge of the mattress, finding a neatly straightened comforter under his ass rather than the tangle of sheets he’s used to.

He starts to say something about it, to remind Connor that he doesn’t need to clean up, but Connor takes his face in both hands and kisses him. It’s nothing like the awkward kiss Connor gave him that first night. This kiss is deep and probing, expertly executed and Hank is lost. Just so fucking lost on Connor.

“I think I’d like to use my mouth, Hank,” Connor whispers when they break. He looks down at Hank with soft eyes and a nervous, playful grin. Hank gives a shaky nod, because what’s he supposed to say? _ Fuck yes, get down here? _ Jesus, Anderson, at least _ try _to be a goddamn gentleman.

The anticipation constricts Hank’s lungs like a vice and he has to remind himself to _ breathe_. It may have been a while for him, but there’s no call to go passing out because he got too excited about Connor helping him get his rocks off.

Yeah, it’s been a long time, but that’s no damn excuse.

Hank can’t really remember now, was it always _ this _ exciting?

Connor kneels on the carpet, placing his hands on Hank’s thighs and there’s nothing Hank can do to hide his arousal. “I don’t think I learned enough from that brief glimpse of Richard and Detective Reed to do this properly.”

“Thank fucking Christ,” Hank growls as he strokes his hand along Connor’s perfect cheekbone and then traces his fingers across his lips. “Can’t think of anything less appealing than you learning how to give head from that overgrown man-child.”

Connor laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I’d much rather learn from you.”

So goddamn sweet. Like cotton-fucking-candy. “I’ve gotta be honest, Con. I don’t know a thing about giving another guy… I mean, I’ve never… myself. Uh, you know.”

“Good,” Connor says earnestly. “I _ am _ grateful when you have the experience to teach me what I don’t know. But, I quite like when…”

“When?” Hank prompts, groaning as Connor begins to dig warm fingers into the tense muscles of his thigh. His cock jumps another inch.

“I like when you and I can share entirely new experiences.”

Hank lets out a low breath. “There’s quite a few of those, kid. Don't get me wrong, I’ve had a bit of sex in my life, but...pretty much everything we’re gonna do looks different with a—with two… I mean… _ with you. _ ” Well, hell. ‘Everything we’re gonna do’ makes it sound like Hank’s just gone and decided Connor’s future for him. “I just mean whatever _ you _ want to try, it’ll be pretty new for me too. Not like we’re gonna run the whole _ Kama Sutra _ together or anything.”

Connor frowns, his lips drawing down at the corners. He looks at Hank, his expression guarded, his dark brows knit together. His LED spins yellow for a long second and then he nods. “I understand.”

Good. He doesn’t want Connor getting the wrong idea.

“I’d like to start now,” Connor tells Hank, and for a moment he still sounds...peeved. Hank leans forward kissing him nice and deep, and, after only a moment’s hesitation, Connor begins to kiss him back.

With admittedly shaky hands, Hank unbuckles his belt and unbuttons his pants. His nerves are playing up as he frees his erection from its cloth imprisonment. 

Connor’s lips are wet and his cheeks flushed as he breaks their kiss, pulling back to gaze down at Hank’s exposed cock. Then Hank feels the first tentative brush of Connor’s fingers on his glans and it’s a goddamn miracle that he doesn’t blow his load right then and there.

“I…” The one word leaves the back of his throat, more like a noise than actual speech. He meets Hank’s eyes and smiles, warm and caring and excited. Hank can honestly say his cock’s never gotten this kind of reaction before and he… well, he loves it.

Connor begins to run his fingers down Hank’s length; measuring, testing.

“If I’d picked ‘hand job,’” Connor says in awe, “would I have just touched you like I touch myself?”

“You’d have to slick it up.” Hank’s voice seems to come from a long way off. This whole thing’s so surreal, he can’t even be sure it’s him talking. “I’m not self-lubricating like you.”

Connor looks up at him. His eyes are searching, seeking a permission Hank doesn’t quite understand.

“I mean...yeah,” he says and nods. “Whatever you want to do, Con. With your hands. With your mouth. Just, um, just watch your teeth, okay?”

Connor nods. “Please, Hank, be sure to tell me if you don’t like what I’m doing.”

“I’m gonna like it,” he promises, because he already does. Hank likes it _ too much_. Connor between his legs, gently exploring his cock. It’s perfection. “But yeah, I’ll let you know.”

Connor leans forward and uses his ridiculously fucking clever tongue to swipe away the precum beaded on the head of Hank’s cock. Connor’s eyes open wide. “You taste strange. Different from me.”

“Oh y-yeah?” Hank asks on a shaky breath, collapsing back to brace on his arms. The thought of Connor tasting his own ejaculate is… Jesus. That’s all he’s got, just... Jesus.

“You’re salty and...alkaline,” Connor says.

“Sexy,” Hank responds dryly.

“I definitely think so. I wonder how the flavor will change now that you’re putting less alcohol into your system.”

Hank wonders if there’s a polite way to tell Connor that now’s not the time to get all chatty and analytical, but really, this is Connor’s journey, not his, and if the kid wants to contemplate the science of jizz, good on him. Hank’s just the guinea pig here. 

And then Connor is trailing gentle kisses down the underside of his shaft and if Hank knew words before, well, they’re gone now because the only thing that leaves his mouth is a low, deep, desperate groan.

He feels a delicious nuzzling at his balls, and has the brief realization that he forgot to warn Connor about how sensitive they are. Then Hank moans as Connor tentatively runs a finger around the base of his shaft. He reaches out for Connor’s head, carding trembling fingers through his hair, fighting the impulse to take hold, to take control.

“Th-that’s good, Connor,” Hank breathes.

Connor hums appreciatively in response and begins to lick a long stripe, up one side and down the other. It’s torturous.

“What should I do next?”

“An-anything,” Hank says. “You can take it in your mouth if you want.”

“I want,” Connor responds huskily.

If Hank were more lucid, he might think about Connor’s previous sexual missteps. He might’ve expected Connor to hold Hank in his mouth, unmoving, or something equally goofy. But his brain is fried by the time the warm, wet heat of Connor’s mouth envelops his cock.

“Nnh.” He moans and tries to count the bumps on the popcorn-textured ceiling because goddammit, if he doesn’t do something, he’s gonna blow his load. A minute in and he’s about to pop off like a teenager getting his first hummer!

Connor—sweet, inexperienced, sexy, marvelous Connor—pulls up and then goes deeper and pulls up and goes deeper, and then he doesn’t stop. He pushes down and down and down by centimeters.

“Con…” Hank begs and he does grab at Connor’s hair then, though whether to stop him or to keep him going, he’s too mind-fucked to know. Connor takes him past the tight ring in the back of his throat and that’s it. They’ve gone from gentle, exploratory kisses to deep-throating and Hank Anderson is only a man, goddammit. When Connor moves again, Hank comes.

He roars in pleasure and in frustration at himself, because _ goddammit-to-fucking-hell, really?! _ That quick?! _ That quick?! _ The rush of pleasure courses through him, flooding him with endorphins and he lets himself fall back against the bed. He readies his apologies, but what comes out is a hiss of discomfort as Connor continues to suck on his cock long past the point of pleasure.

“Con, Con! Kid, you did good. You can stop.”

“I felt your body spasm and tasted your ejaculate, but I wasn’t certain how long I should continue. It’s...over now?” Connor asks, his face broadcasting a curious mix of satisfaction, concern, and elation. Hank gives him a thumbs up.

“Yep… and I’m sorry about that. I—”

In his enthusiasm, Connor practically leaps onto the bed, snuggling up beside Hank. “We’re much better at this than Richard and Detective Reed,” he declares proudly. “They took significantly longer to finish.”

Hank groans. Couldn’t Connor at least let him ride the high a little while longer before knocking him back to earth with the shameful knowledge that the human dumpster fire has more stamina than he does?

Hank puts his arm around Connor’s waist and holds him close. It feels so good to have him in his arms.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” he murmurs. “That really should take a helluva lot longer.”

“I didn’t do it right?” Connor guesses, a note of...frustration? concern?... in his voice.

“Hell no. If anything, you did _ too damn good_. My job is to last more than two minutes and you...you made it impossible.” Hank closes his eyes, feeling a snooze coming on.

“Well,” Connor says thoughtfully, and with a smartass grin in his voice, he teases, “I’ll expect you to try harder next time, Lieutenant Anderson.”

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes Cosmo run through the streets shouting in excitement! <3 Please consider letting me know what you think.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nines has two words for you: Power. Bottom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE shout-out to everyone who commented last week and TOTALLY called it. 
> 
> Poor, poor Gavin...(???????) I mean, he'd be the first to tell you that he's nEvEr dOnE aNyThInG wRonG eVeR iN HiS wHolE LiFe... (´_ゝ`)

**-BONUS-**

Gavin squats in the shower, steaming hot water pounding against his back. He holds his head in his hands. The pelting spray stings the raw claw marks, reminding him of what he’s been up to this evening. Except…

He’s not exactly sure…

What…

Happened?

Because _ he…! _ And then _ Nines…! _ And it was _ sex _ , definitely. (Check the definition online, if you want.) Gavin used his cock. It was, technically, _ inside Nines’ asshole. _ And he came. He came _ hard_. But…

But, what the phck? _ What. The actual. Phck. _

Gavin is pretty sure that somehow—even balls-deep inside the android—he still bottomed.

BOTTOMED.

He was topped by the phcking android whose ass his dick was inside of.

Nines had been on top of him, riding him, pinning his hands above his head. He controlled every minute movement of the phcking. If Gavin tried to pound up into him, Nines’d pull off and make him promise to ‘be a good boy.’ (Phcking piece of plastic shit.) If Nines wanted Gavin to be louder, he’d chomp down on Gavin’s shoulder until he screamed. (Goddamn cyberphckbucket.) He didn’t let Gavin come until after _ he’d _ come... _ twice_. (Sadistic robosatan.)

No. There’s no doubt. Nines TOPPED from the bottom.

Gavin slowly stands, the water hitting him in the face.

What did Gavin _ ever _do to deserve this? Nothing. He’s never done anything to warrant this level of bullshittery.

The bathroom door opens and Gavin startles, whipping around toward the noise. Mini-Gavin perks up as if to say, _ Please sir, I want some more. _He glares down at it.

“What the phck, Nines? Can I not get one second of goddamn privacy?” Phcking insatiable toaster oven.

There’s a pause and then the android says, “I’m leaving.”

Gavin snorts. The phcking GoBot’s never announced his departures before. “Good,” Gavin replies.

“Your dinner is on the table.”

Then the door shuts.

Dinner…

Wait…

_ What? _

After he’s done with his shower, Gavin marches straight to the kitchen, towel still wrapped around his waist. There he finds the table set for one. Plate, glass, fork, even a goddamn paper towel neatly folded. And a box of macaroni and cheese sitting in front of the place setting with a very short note on it. In CyberLife Sans it says: _ Hopefully, even you can follow the directions on the back of the package, ‘Detective.’ _

Gavin hurls the box at the exposed-brick half-wall and it explodes, macaroni shells raining down on the tile.

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback recharges Cosmo's drained batteries. (It was a hard week!) Please consider letting me know what you think <3


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jealous-green isn't a good color on you, Hank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ I appreciate the HELL out of you guys! ✧ﾟ･: *ヽ(◕ヮ◕ヽ)
> 
> Um, yeah, so...seriously. I've been doing a bit of expansion on the ending of the story just 'cause you guys inspired me. SO. THANK YOU. Anyone interested in a couple extra chapters and bonuses at the end?
> 
> (It's cool if you're like ლ(ಠ益ಠლ) _COSMO. No. 40 total. No more._ I mean...I'm still gonna do it, but I totally respect your feelings!)

Despite being a generally unreliable fuckwit, the tip Gavin Reed ends up passing Hank is a good one. An old-school Eastside gang has been using kids to push red ice in the schools. It’s not exactly a new story, but there’s a twist. Turns out several teachers not only know about the contraband, but aid in distribution. It’s a fine fucking day when Hank gets to cuff Little Miss World History in front of her third period class. Day gets even better when Connor grins and winks at him afterward.

He misses working the red ice division, so it feels good to be back—if only temporarily. He puts a coffee on Reed’s desk, but stops short of actually thanking the asshole. He’d have to look at him to do that, and thanks to Connor, he’s got the unshakable mental image of Gavin giving head to Richard. 

There’s not enough alcohol in the world to forget that shit.

Not that Hank’s drinking these days.

Some nights are harder than others.

Like tonight when Connor’s gone out to do...whatever it is he does, and Hank drives around downtown, finally ending up at Jimmy’s. He stops outside the door, considering the NO ANDROIDS ALLOWED sign. Not that this—or any sign—has ever stopped Connor from entering, but it might be time to find a new haunt. This bar made sense when Hank was still angry. When he was balls-deep in anti-android propaganda. Less so now, when he's sleeping with an android every night.

Plus...he’s not drinking.

He reminds himself of that fact as he pushes inside and Jimmy greets him with a nod, immediately grabbing the bottle of whiskey from under the counter. Hank shakes his head and holds up a hand. _ He can do this_. He promised Connor.

“Give me a Coke or a Red or...I dunno,” he tells Jimmy and the proprietor stares at Hank like he’s grown second _ and _third heads. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Just do it.”

“Who the fuck are you even?” Jimmy asks with a grin as he pops the cap off a bottle of soda and slides it across the bar to Hank. Then: “You want a pretzel to go with that?”

“Eh, why the hell not?”

He watches the game for a while, ordering two more sodas and a basket of buffalo wings. Definitely not the healthiest meal he ever had, and he can imagine Connor tabulating the calorie count to guilt him into dropping the last drumlette. 

By halftime, Hank’s noticed something. Jimmy’s isn’t half so interesting when he’s sober. The food’s kinda shit and the other sad-sack drunks keep mostly to themselves. He looks up at the pennants and flags hanging from the bar lights. Were those always there? He looks back at the television. He could be at home drinking soda, with a big best friend of a dog and a television screen a helluva lot bigger than this one.

But then he remembers the reason he wanted to get out in the first place. The house seems empty without Connor and when he’s not around, Hank spends a lot of time wondering where he is. _ It’s none of your business, old man_, he tells himself. And...it’s not. _ It’s not_. Connor is his own man; Hank doesn’t own him… even if Connor’s mouth tastes like him. And God, now that he’s had Hank’s cum down his throat, he must taste even more like Hank. 

Still doesn’t give Hank the right to ask where Connor goes at night.

Hank taps his fingers on the countertop.

If he had a beer…

Just one beer wouldn’t be enough to get him buzzed.

“Get you something else, Hank?” Jimmy asks and Hank realizes he’s waved the barkeep over. Fuck him running. Before he knows it, he’s staring down into a mug full of beer.

He touches the tip of his finger to the foam and puts it to his lips. God, it wouldn’t be a big deal. Surely, Connor wouldn’t get mad over a single beer.

Connor’s face flashes in his mind. The earnest sound of his voice as he told Hank they couldn’t sleep together, that he couldn’t _ rest_, if Hank continued to drink.

And Hank had promised to try his best.

He felt that beautiful, intense gaze, so brown and deep and desperate, as Connor held him after another shitty-ass night, and he promised to try harder. He focuses on Connor’s sweet, cheerful smile, on the feeling of having him in his bed, having his arms around him, holding him close. If he drinks, he loses that.

Hank pulls out his phone, swallowing hard against his parched throat. If he’s gonna S.O.S. this then he better do it quick before he gives in to temptation. He taps out a brief message, then he pushes off the stool onto legs that feel a little bit shaky. Hank tosses a few bills onto the bar and slides his drink down to Derek who flashes him a toothy grin of thanks.

Hank’s not dramatic enough to pretend walking to the exit is the hardest thing he’s ever done in his life, but about the time he shoulders the door open, he realizes his fingernails are digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood._ Gold fucking star, Anderson, _ he thinks. 

His phone buzzes and he looks down.

> **Hank Anderson - 8:32 p.m.  
** _Need you._

> **Connor - 8:32 p.m.  
** _I’m on my way. 15 minutes. Call me now, Lieutenant._

Connor answers almost instantly, his voice tight and concerned. “Lieutenant, are you alright? Your phone’s GPS says you’re at Jimmy’s Bar. Are you drunk?”

“Jesus, you’re tracking my phone now?” Hank asks, walking across the empty backstreet toward his parked car. He doesn’t actually care that Connor’s keeping tabs on him—it’s kinda sweet in a way that would be stalkerish coming from anyone but his android. 

Still, how’s it fair that Connor can watch his every movement and he doesn’t have a clue what Connor was up to tonight? “Where are _ you_?”

Hank doesn’t mean to sound belligerent, but getting the third degree after walking away from that beer… it kinda pisses him off. He knows he’s not earned Connor’s complete trust yet, but he’s fucking trying. He texted, didn’t he?

“I’ve left Markus’ home and I’m on my way to you.”

Markus.

Unique prototype.

Revolutionary leader.

Literal android Jesus.

Hank takes a deep, controlling breath. “I’m heading home.”

“Should you drive?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Connor, I haven’t had anything to drink, okay?” Hank is starting to regret having texted. He unlocks the Buick’s door and climbs inside, gripping the steering wheel and taking a minute before he puts his key in the ignition. All he has to do is tell Connor it was a false alarm, then he can go back inside and slap a twenty on the bar and Jimmy will give him what’s left in the bottle of Black Lamb, no questions asked. 

“_Hank._”

His name. Not _ Lieutenant_, but _ Hank_. The name he uses when it’s just the two of them.

“Yeah?” Hank says on a shaky breath.

“I’m coming home. Please meet me there?”

_ Home_. The word is so warm, so sweet, so _ tempting_. Every bit as tempting as the bar. No, _more so_, because Connor will be there.

“Alright, kid,” Hank says quietly and he puts the car in drive.

* * *

Connor must have broken the speed limit because he beats Hank home. The thought of Connor hacking the automatic taxi just to shave five minutes off the drive is oddly endearing. And when he sees his android sitting on the edge of the couch, waiting for him, he feels as if someone’s just reached into his chest and squeezed his heart.

Sumo’s head is on Conor’s lap and both of them look up at the same time, just as Hank walks through the door. Sumo pants and lets out a _ welcome home _ BOOF! And Connor, Connor just stares.

“Hey,” Hank says. “You really didn’t need to come. I’m sorry, I… got a little off course. But I worked it out.”

Connor nods slowly, his look still concerned. “It’s alright, we were done for the evening.”

“New plans for the revolution?” Hank asks quietly and Connor shakes his head.

“Not tonight. I was hoping Markus might have some information about the virus. He’s an RK after all and therefore he’d be susceptible to infection. However, I discovered tonight that Markus’ sexual systems have been active for some months..”

Connor went to Markus...about the virus? And just how the hell did Connor find out Markus’ sexual systems are active? The blistering wave of jealousy comes on so fast it threatens to bowl Hank over. Images of Connor—_his Connor_—in Markus’ arms are… they’re too fucking much.

Every lesson they’ve shared has essentially been a one-off. Hank taught Connor to jerk off, but they only did it _ together _ once. Connor learned to kiss, but it’s not like they spend every evening making out. He gave Hank head, but...they haven't mentioned it since.

Did he take _ his lessons _ to Markus’ tonight? Is that how he found out about Markus’ systems?

“Why did you go to Jimmy’s this evening?” Connor asks, his eyebrows knitting in concern and Hank is immediately on the defensive. He has to swallow the first two retorts that spring to mind because they’re as black and ugly as he’s feeling. 

He takes in a long, deep, controlling breath and says, “Connor, if you’re so damn concerned about my drinking, test my BAC. I know you can. Give me a breathalyzer or do whatever the fuck it is you need to do to ease your worries, and then kindly get off my ass.”

Connor blinks at Hank, his expression unchanged.

“I believe you that you didn’t drink tonight, Lieutenant.” Ah, so it's _Lieutenant _ again. Sometimes the names Connor uses for him are the only way Hank can get any sense of where they stand. “I’m just curious _ why _you would put yourself in that position. Wasn’t it difficult to refrain from drinking when there was temptation all around?”

“Yeah,” Hank says, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, it was really fuckin’ difficult.”

“Then why—?”

“Because you weren’t here and I was _ lonely_, alright? Thought I’d go out and be around other people. It was a goddamn stupid idea. But I kept my promise, so just...drop it, would ya?” Hank throws his jacket at the coat rack and stomps down the hall toward the bathroom. He’s in a piss-poor mood now. With a bark of bitter laughter, he realizes he’s going to miss the end of the game.

He slams the bathroom door, stripping off his clothes and chucking them at the hamper.

He doesn’t like having to account for his whereabouts. Nah, it’s not that. He wouldn’t mind telling Connor anything—_everything_—he wants to know, if that was the sort of relationship they had. If they _ belonged _to each other. 

The shower is too fucking cold when Hank steps into the spray and he quickly turns up the hot water, until the large room begins to fill with steam. He sighs and lets his head thunk against the yellow-tiled wall. _ If he and Connor belonged to each other_… Jesus, what would that even look like? Like they were _ dating _ or something? One thing’s for certain, it wouldn’t look like Hank wandering into bars and wondering if Connor was giving head to the patron saint of androids.

Hank scrubs his hair and his beard and his body and he grows hard thinking about Connor and then he deflates thinking about Connor _ and Markus_. Jesus. He was never a _ jealous _ guy before. By the end of his marriage, he didn’t give enough of a fuck to even _ get _ jealous. But he keeps circling back around to the idea of Connor taking the lessons he’s learned with Hank and sharing those experiences with other people. Lessons they never said would stay exclusively between them. Lessons Hank desperately wants to be theirs alone.

He hears the door slowly open. Great, he’s been in here awhile, Connor probably needs the bathroom for another solo jerk-off session.

“I’ll be done in a sec, Con,” he grumbles. “Just let me…”

When Connor doesn’t respond, Hank turns to gaze at the blur of the android through the translucent shower curtain, watches him take off his jacket and unzip his pants. And fuck if the sound of that zipper being pulled down doesn't make him hard again.

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes Cosmo put on her goin'-out-on-the-town shoes! (◕‿◕✿) Please consider letting me know what you think!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nines asks (??) Gavin on a date (??) (¬‿¬)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's trashfire day! Everyone gather 'round for another episode in the ongoing tale of two horrible men and their...ro...mance...?? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**-BONUS-**

Mr. Roboto stands at the side of Gavin’s desk staring so intently Gavin isn’t sure he’s not trying to kill him with his eyes. He probably is. At least plotting, scheming. Death by phcking, almost certainly. But Gavin won’t give Nines the pleasure of an acknowledgement, and so he ignores him, working on.

And on.

And on.

While the android stands stock-still _watching_ and _waiting_ and finally—goddammit!—Gavin slams his hands down on his desk.

“What do you want, you plastic phckin tin can?”

“You aren’t very intelligent, are you, Detective Reed?” Nines replies coolly.

“What the _phck_ did you just say?!”

“Am I ‘tin’ or am I ‘plastic’? Am I a ‘man-made monstrocity’ or am I ‘demonspawn’? You really need to make up your mind.”

“You’re evil incarnate,” Gavin growls. “You’re all things at all times. But more than anything, you’re a huge pain in my ass and I wish you would spontaneously combust. Also... you’re standing in my space and I _don’t_ know _what the phck_ you _want_.”

Nines grins, the evil in his smile reaching his eyes which glint. “Your shift ends at 5:00.”

“What a great observation,” Gavin says sarcastically. “Add that to the list of things you are: an excellent phcking alarm clock.”

“Meet me at your car no later than 5:05.”

Gavin grits his teeth and glares. “And _why the phck _would I do that, you demon toaster?”

“Because we’re going on a date, meatbag.”

* * *

Gavin is sucking down cigarette smoke, pacing in the alley beside the DPD Central Station, trying for the hundredth time to get his head around what Nines said.

Because.

We’re.

Going.

On a.

Date.

What does that even _mean_?

If this were a date with a _normal female human_ then Gavin would know what he was getting into. Dinner, movies, and at the end, if he’s lucky, a handy. But there’s nothing normal here. This is a date with a goddamn _incubus summoned from the Netherworld given plasticine humanoid shape. _A murderous, foul-tempered, sadistic _asshole_ who _obviously_ doesn’t understand what dinner actually is, given that macaroni incident. 

Gavin takes another too-long drag off his cigarette and hunches down in his leather jacket. It’s 5:04. He’s still got a minute. Even so, he looks over his shoulder, expecting to see Connor-on-Steroids standing behind him looking menacing and tapping an imaginary watch.

Is there any way of getting out of this or should Gavin just put on the _Funeral March_ and resign himself to his goddamn fate? The alley’s open at both ends. He could try to run, abandon his car and hail a cab. But what if Nines expects that? He could be standing at that end of the alley, ready to stab Gavin repeatedly if he tries to escape. Or maybe he thinks Gavin’s too much of a phcking coward to even try that and he’s just sitting in the passenger seat of the car.

Gavin looks up at the fire escape above him. He could push the dumpster over, climb up to the roof, and hide out until Nines gets tired of waiting. Or...sets Gavin’s car on fire.

The clock rolls over to 5:05 and Gavin is carried on feet that are stupider (or smarter) than he is, because they’re headed straight for his car. It’s like his feet have no concept of any of his escape plans. Or they like being phcked brainless. Gavin doesn’t know, but this analogy is getting stupid.

Nines is leaning against the back of Gavin’s car, arms folded across his artificially broad chest. He’s got that all-knowing, arrogant smirk on his stupidly handsome murder-face and when Gavin is close enough, he holds out his hand for the keys.

“I’ll drive.”

“_Phck off_,_” _Gavin replies and takes the last drag off his cigarette before grinding the butt underneath the heel of his boot. “I’m not going anywhere with you, toaster oven.”

“We could take a taxi if you’d prefer, Detective Reed.” Nines’ voice is chilly and seductive, a cruel reminder of the last time they’d ridden the automatic Detroit Taxi together. He’d gotten pounded hard in the backseat until he blew his load with a wave of pleasure and shame. (And then he received a goddamned cleaning bill from the city!)

“What’s your preference?”

“Goddamn stupid phcking piece of phcking shit machine,” Gavin growls, digging in his jeans pocket and then flinging his keys at Nines’ head. _Of course_ the android catches them without any trouble.

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback gives Cosmo boundless energy to write more trashfire nonsense! ♪~ ᕕ(ᐛ)ᕗ Please consider telling me what you think!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank done fucked up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the weekend, and you know what that means...! Another chapter of "Okay, But If You Guys Would Just TALK..." <3

“Con…” Hank says, watching Connor step out of his pants. He stares through the sheer shower curtain. Anticipation pools in his belly.

“I’d like to join you, Lieutenant,” Connor says, unbuttoning his shirt with steady fingers.

“Nah, kid, I don’t believe that,” Hank says, and silently curses himself for arguing. He should just rip back the shower curtain and drag Connor inside. He wants to make him forget Markus even exists. “If you wanted to join me, you’d be calling me ‘Hank.’”

“You’re obviously quite upset with me.” Connor’s voice is low. “I...I treasure that you want me to use your first name, Lieutenant, and I know this is irrational and sentimental, but I’d rather not use it when you’re angry.” Neither of them say anything for several long moments and then Connor presses on. “I’m sorry for doubting your sobriety. You promised you would try, and I believe that _ is _ your intent. But, at the same time, I’ve learned a lot. The relapse statistics for recovering alcoholics without support groups are discouraging.”

“Is that a stipulation now?” Hank asks, his voice oddly level. He’s still processing what Connor said about using his name. “You changing the rules on me? Now my choices are go to AA or you’re not sleeping in my bed anymore? What’s next, find a group or you won’t come home at night?”

Connor gently pulls back the curtain. He’s so perfectly beautiful. His body is sculpted of hard lines that damn sure do it for Hank. He should probably look away or something. What’s the gentlemanly thing to do in a fucked up situation like this? Is it more rude to turn his back or to gawk? Because right now, Hank’s goddamn gawking.

Connor trails his gaze down Hank’s body. Hank knows he’s not much to look at. Whatever muscle he’s still got hides under soft layers. Not a lot of definition left, these days. It’s been a long time since he looked anything like Connor, if he ever did. He holds his hands out. “Well, kid, here I am.”

Connor lifts his eyes and subtly wets his lips. Such a human thing to do. He steps into the tub, letting the shower curtain sweep closed behind him. Droplets of water bounce off Hank and splatter Connor’s chest.

Connor moves closer and reaches out, gently tugging on Hank’s beard. He takes Hank’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together, stepping closer. Pressing in tight. Hank really digs Connor being forward like this, especially when Connor closes that last little bit of space and Hank can feel the hardness against his leg. Connor _ wants him_.

“I’m not making _ any _ new stipulations,” Connor promises.

Hank closes his eyes as Connor’s hand trails from his beard down his neck to his chest.

“But, _ Hank _…” If Hank wasn’t aroused before, he damn sure is when he hears the sound of his name on Connor’s lips. His android lets out a low moan as Hank grinds against his hip. “Are you certain our misunderstanding is the only reason you’re upset? I noticed your breathing and heart rate changed when I mentioned Markus.”

Hank grabs Connor, tightening his arms around his partner’s waist possessively. And goddamn if Connor’s hands don’t seek out Hank’s ass and dig in with unnatural strength. There’s bound to be bruises, but he doesn’t care. It feels so _ good _ to be wanted.

He doesn’t want to lie to Connor, but the truth is ugly. Hank knows jealous green isn’t a flattering color on him. So instead of responding, he leans down and kisses Connor, and Connor enthusiastically kisses back, parting his lips unprompted and exploring Hank’s mouth with his tongue. 

Maybe he can just kiss Connor stupid and they won’t have to talk about it…

They’re both so _ hard_. And Hank’s fucking flattered at Connor’s arousal. 

Connor gasps when the kiss breaks and his gaze is fiery as he looks up at Hank, a small accusatory smile on his lips. “You’re trying to distract me, Hank.”

“I am,” Hank admits, swallowing. Connor moves slightly and his cock drags against Hank’s skin. “But you’re not gonna let me get away with it, are you?”

Connor shakes his head slowly. “I wouldn’t be a very good detective if I were fooled by such an obvious ploy, and besides, I want to know what you’re thinking.”

“I’m just...curious,” Hank says, his voice unintentionally gruff. “How did you find out Markus’, er, systems are turned on?”

“He told me,” Connor says simply.

“He didn’t… y’know, show you?”

Connor’s LED spins yellow and Connor frowns, his brows knitting. “Do you mean to ask if he demonstrated sexual acts for me?”

“Or… _ on _ you.” It’s like Hank’s voice is coming from some other asshole. ’Cause is he really asking this sweet android if he let Markus fuck him?

“No?” Connor’s tone is still confused, but Hank can’t focus on what else the kid’s got to say because the _ relief _ that floods through his veins is like a drug. 

_ No. _

Connor and Markus haven’t been expanding on Hank’s lessons. 

“Markus is my friend, Hank, but that’s all. I thought intimacy was supposed to be shared between two people who _ care _ about each other.”

“Well, sure,” Hank says. Connor’s optimism can be frustrating sometimes, but this is… good. Sweet. Hopeful. And Hank likes it a lot. “I mean ideally. But… it doesn’t have to be. Sometimes, sex can just be...sex.”

Connor frowns and his grip loosens slightly. Hank compensates by holding him tighter, closer.

“Like a one-time event,” Connor says.

“Yeah. A one-night stand’s a pretty good example. Sometimes people just meet up and they get off and they go their own ways.”

Connor suddenly breaks out of Hank’s grip and when he steps away, Hank can see that he’s no longer aroused. Not only that, but his LED is red. Hank’s only seen Connor’s LED go red a couple of times—when he was fatally injured and when he was struggling the hardest with his deviancy.

“Con?”

“I...thought…”

“You thought what?” Hank asks, knowing he’s fucked up and fucked up hard, but not sure what dumbass thing he’s said that’s upset Connor. Connor grips the shower curtain and Hank’s afraid he’s going to bolt.

Hank shouldn’t have said anything. He shouldn’t have _ fucking said _ anything at all.

Connor’s eyes are such a deep and intense brown as he stares at Hank. “Why did you teach me how to masturbate?”

“Because you were in distress and needed my help,” Hank replies quickly. Connor’s LED changes from red to yellow, but it spins hard and fast, processing frantically. “You’re my friend, Connor,” Hank says cautiously. “And you were upset, so—”

“Is that why you thought Markus might have helped me ease the virus’s symptoms? Because he’s my friend, as well?”

“I… I mean, sure, maybe.” _ And because I’m a jealous dumbass_, Hank thinks. “Look, Con, I shouldn’t have asked and I’m sorry. Sex is… personal. It’s a choice. What you do, who you do it with, whether you even do it at all, that’s up to you.” Hank’s chest tightens as he dislodges the words from the back of his throat. “I mean, we’re not committed to each other, Connor. If you _ want _to have sex with Markus, I...shouldn’t get in the way of that.”

The LED flashes red again and Connor’s face hardens. For a moment he reminds Hank so much of Richard that it’s unsettling. He fucking hates the blank expression on his partner’s face. Connor wordlessly throws back the curtain and steps out of the tub, leaving Hank alone in the suddenly chilly spray.

* * *

It’s almost midnight before he comes to bed, but Connor does sleep with Hank that night. And the night after that and the night after that. 

He silently climbs into bed, dressed down in Hank’s sweats, and he curls up behind Hank and holds him or lets Hank wrap his arms around his body and snuggles back into him. He doesn’t say much, and when Hank tries to talk with him about what happened, he redirects the conversation in quiet ways. Worse, all three nights, Hank’s woken up to the sight of Connor’s LED. When he’s hibernating, his LED is a muted yellow. Background processes, he says. But these nights, it’s bright—definitely not hibernation.

And Hank doesn’t have one goddamn idea what to do about it.

He’s tried to apologize, but not knowing what to apologize for means that his words don’t quite land and Connor’s not particularly forthcoming with his grievances.

Then things get rough at work.

An android politician—a candidate for the city council—is murdered. Her name was Regina Hope, of all the fucking things. Her polling numbers were low, but the murderer makes it clear they weren’t willing to accept any chance of her being elected. 

An anti-android rant has been carved into her skin all the way down to the shell. The writing is meticulous, it must have taken hours. The killer threatens that any android who tries to be elected to a seat of power will face a similar fate. Despite receiving a significant bump in the polls following the reporting of the murder, the only other android candidate drops out of the race.

Hank and Connor pull double-shifts the first week on the case, but spend hours saying nothing to each except to discuss the evidence. Fuck, even Richard and Reed seem to be getting along better than Hank and Connor. And that’s taking Gavin’s daily RK900 rages into consideration.

By Saturday, Hank is bone-weary and real goddamn tired of being ignored. So when Connor and Sumo return from an afternoon walk, Hank meets them in the hallway. Connor bends down to unhook Sumo’s leash. He glances at Hank, and then away.

“Con?”

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“Do you want to go to bed with me?”

“It’s early,” Connor says, tilting his head a fraction of an inch. His expression is unreadable, his LED blue. “I had planned to go back over the witness reports.”

“I’m…” Hank takes in a deep breath and slowly lets it out. “I’m not talking about _ sleeping. _” He knows he’s making a bold move, but he feels backed into a corner. What other options does he have? “I thought you might want another lesson.”

Connor doesn’t speak or move, but his eyes widen a little.

“I could show you what it feels like to get head?”

Connor looks down at the leash in his hand as Sumo, panting, pads off to the kitchen for water. He doesn’t meet Hank’s eyes when he asks, “Why?”

“Because…” Hank gestures vaguely, trying to come up with any reason that doesn’t sound desperate and pathetic. But he’s feeling pretty fucking desperate and pretty fucking pathetic. _ I miss you? I want you? I don’t want you to change your mind about Markus? _

When it’s clear that Hank has nothing beyond ‘because,’ Connor purses his lips and winds the leash around his hand. Then he slips it neatly off and places it on the table next to the door to the garage.

“Another one-off?”

“Yeah,” Hank promises, as ever not wanting to take more than is being offered, more than Connor is comfortable with. “Doesn’t have to be anything more than that, if you don’t want. Friends helping each other—”

“I hate it.”

The words don’t sound anything like Connor, and Hank reels like he’s been slapped.

Connor looks back up at him then, his LED flashing angry colors that match his scowl and the set of his jaw. “I understand, Lieutenant, that you don’t _ care _ about me the way I care about you and that you are content for these lessons to be one-and-done. But…” His gaze is piercing as he stares down a dumbfounded Hank. “I’d rather _ not_, especially since you want me to take these one-off sessions and use my new skills with someone else.”

“I never—”

“No, thank you.”

He strides toward the living room, but goddammit, Hank is on him in an instant, grabbing his arm and saying, “Wait just a fucking minute, kid!”

Connor starts to pull his arm away, but Hank holds on tight, moving his grip to Connor’s hand, taking it in his own.

“You think I don’t _ care _ about you? You think I—_what_?—I just do this for every fucking person who ever gets a boner?”

“You said we were friends,” Connor says coldly. “That’s why you helped me out. You said—”

“Yeah, and that’s true. You’re my friend. But you’re not _ just _ my friend. Jesus fucking Christ. Don’t you realize I want to drag you into my arms every time you smile at me? That I want to kiss you until my goddamn lips fall off? You’re the one who said you expected me to have more stamina ‘next time’ we were together. But there was never a _ next time_, Connor!”

Connor’s lips part, and he stares at Hank in surprise.

“I was jealous, okay? I was really fucking _ jealous _ when I thought you were with Markus.”

“Because you—?”

“I don’t want anyone else to touch you.”

For a long while his LED just spins yellow, and then slowly it melts back to blue and Connor smiles. That perfect, dimpled smile.

“Then...yes...please, Lieu—Hank—I’d very much like you to teach me the next lesson.”

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback give Cosmo a +10 modifier to her Happiness Roll. <3 Please consider telling me what you think!


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a totally. normal. date night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! What y'all have been waiting for... *THE DATE* (for better or worse!)
> 
> Just so you know, this chapter contains non-consensual drug use. (But almost certainly NOT for the reasons you’d think.)

**-BONUS-**

Gavin stares at Nines’ stupid, perfect ass, obscenely accentuated by those jeans. (Why are they so tight? No android dickwad should be permitted to wear jeans that tight.) He’s bending over to line up his shot and—Godphckinghelldamn—he’s gotta be doing this on purpose. Right? _Right?!_

Pool. They’re playing _pool_. At a bar. On a date. 

Gavin'd sunk the six ball and then scratched. Now Nines has been taking shot after shot. He takes a sip off his beer and tilts his head slightly. That ass really is glorious, even if Dr. Dreamkiller _has _ruined topping for Gavin forever. 

As Nines straightens up, Gavin doesn’t quite tear his gaze away fast enough and the android smirks knowingly at him.

“Like what you see?”

“No.” Gavin sniffs and takes another drink, glaring.

“Neither do I,” Nines says with a wicked grin, undressing Gavin with his eyes, piece by piece. Well two can play at that game! Gavin glares at Nines’ _phcking ridiculous _body and imagines dead-legging him so he can pull his shoes and socks off, then ripping the zipper on his jeans, and then going for his hideous jacket with its phcking idiotic collar…

“D’you even have a neck?” Gavin demands and realizes his words are a bit slurred. _Is he drunk? _“Am I drunk?”

“Yes and yes, Detective.”

“_How?! _”

“CyberLife designed me to be as human-like as possible, and humans have necks.”

Gavin snorts despite himself. (What? It was funny!) “Phcking smartass. I meant. How. Am. I. Drunk?”

“Well, this is your fifth drink.”

Gavin stares down at his beer. “Really?”

Nines grins. “No, not really. I slipped you something to make you a bit more biddable.”

“Are y’_phcking kidding me_? Y’_roofied me? _”

“A small dose,” Nines confirms as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Why.” The word comes out as a statement, not a question. “There’s _literally _no reason to do that. You get to _literally _phck me whenever and wherever you want. I _literally _let you phck me _all the time. _Well, not let you. I just don’t _stop you. Literally_.”

“The goal isn’t to ‘phck you,’ Detective,” Nines says and leans back against the pool table. 

“That’s always your goal. _Always. _So c’mon. Out with it? Yer dick break off? Y'havin' a hardware malfunction? What? ’Cause if you didn’t slip me something _for sex _then we’re... in Bizzaro world, phcker.”

Nines’ answer is precise and clipped, “I need you amenable to...enjoying our date.”

Gavin’s brow furrows.

“Here are the facts, Detective. One, you are stubborn. Two, you are crude. Three, if I want you to do something, you will attempt to do the exact opposite.” Nines ticks his ‘facts’ off on his fingers. “We are on _a date_. I chose this particular bar because I know it’s one of your favorites—”

“Stalker.” Gavin snorts.

“I chose pool because you enjoy games of skill.”

“Stalker,” Gavin repeats, because his brain can’t think of anything more clever to say.

“This is supposed to be a fun outing. So if you refuse to have fun _sober_, then I must arrange for you to do so _under the influence._”

“You are phcking insane, menace-bot.”

“I’m wooing you,” Nines says, setting his cue down on the table. “Now come pay for another game and, as they say, rack ’em up.”

“But...I only took two shots.” Gavin holds up two fingers and waves them emphatically at Nines. “_Two_. How can it be over?”

“I am the most perfect android CyberLife ever created. I don’t miss. Try harder, _Gavin. _”

Gavin tries harder...and fails. Because once he misses his shot, in pool, in darts, in phcking _quarters _, Nines then goes on to sweep the whole game. And Gavin drinks more and more and he glowers and he curses. But Gavin is also...having fun? Sorta. The lights are streaky and the whole bar is spinning just a little, but Nines is making him laugh. Well, at least the thought of Nines is making him laugh. (Wait, what does that even mean?)

“Y’have a neck…” Gavin slurs happily, hanging onto Nines’ arm as he stumbles toward his apartment. “Y’know, I’ve never _seen _yer neck… Why have I never _seen _yer neck, androidphcker?”

“Because I’ve never fully undressed in your presence, Detective.”

“And whyyyyy is that, y’super expensive plastic..._ Something_?” Words fail Gavin.

Nines pushes Gavin through the front door of the apartment complex, catching him before he stumbles to the ground.

“There’s been no reason to do so. I am perfectly capable of using my genitals without fully undressing.”

“_Pbbbt_.” Gavin blows a raspberry and holds out his arms to prevent the Doomdroid from pushing him into the elevator. “Y’didn’t phck me with your ‘genitals’ tonight,” Gavin says and tries to fight but Nines easily breaks his grip on the elevator doors. “Not in the bathroom, not in the car… Where’s your genitals _now _, Nines? Do y’still have them? Y’gonna use ’em in my apartment?”

“No,” Nines replies and hits the button for the third floor.

“No…” Gavin says and leans against his android, closing his eyes. When he opens them again, Nines has the key to Gavin’s apartment and is unlocking the front door. “No... “ he says again. “But you _always _phck me. Whether it’s _convenient _for me… or not…”

Nines pushes Gavin toward his room and helps him undress, stripping him to his boxers with cool, detached efficiency. 

“Tonight was our first date, Detective,” Nines says, pulling back the covers on the bed. Gavin does a bellyflop onto the mattress, bouncing once. Nines stands there, staring down at Gavin. And Gavin turns his head so he can stare back at all three of his partners swirling around. A small smirk crosses the evil machine’s lips. “I don’t ‘put out’ on the first date.”

Then he leans over and gives Gavin a chaste kiss on the cheek.

**<<< >>>**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is more precious to Cosmo than fancy iced coffee. (And damn if she doesn't love her some fancy iced coffee!) <3 Please consider letting me know what you think!


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank's hoping for 3/3!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, now you guys have gone and done it! SERIOUSLY!  
"Done what?" you all collectively ask in your most innocent voices.  
Guys... you've made *OFFICIALLY* made _Glitches_ my most popular story in every way.  
(ღ˘⌣˘ღ) ♫･*:.｡. .｡.:*･  
I'm speechless AND honored. <3  
Thank you so much!

Hank kisses Connor out of hibernation, and when those soulful brown eyes open, a smile quickly follows. He’s warm and flushed from android-sleep and he returns Hank’s kisses with sloppy happiness.

A week ago, Hank couldn’t have imagined there were morning kisses in his future.

Then again, until a week ago, he hadn’t had Connor’s dick in his mouth, either.

A lot of things can change in seven days.

Connor starts to get handsy, running his fingers along the waistband of Hank’s boxers, delving inside. He parts his lips, teases Hank into doing the same, and Hank wonders if his mouth still tastes like Connor’s weird synthetic jizz from last night. Any which way, Connor doesn’t seem to mind.

Connor’s fingers play along Hank’s sensitive flesh, teasing him, and for half a second Hank has the fleeting thought that he’s so fucking _ lucky _ getting to start his day like this.

He thinks it a lot lately. _ Lucky_. When he comes home from the grocery store and finds Connor on the couch, smiling up at him, a little bit of hard stomach showing from underneath Hank’s old Detroit Police Academy sweatshirt.

_ Lucky _ because Hank’s dog thinks Connor hangs the moon, and in turn, Connor thinks the sun rises with Sumo. 

_ Lucky _when he pads into the bathroom to find Connor’s little notes on the mirror, little replies, rebuttals to the notes Hank leaves for himself.

_ Lucky. _

“You feel good, Hank,” Connor groans and trails kisses down his neck. He reaches Hank’s collarbone and begins to suck and worry the skin there. They’ve had a conversation or two about giving Hank hickeys that can be seen above his collar.

“It’s not that I don’t want the world to know,” Hank had promised last time. “I just don’t want them to separate us at work. It’s dangerous enough, that fucker Richard knowing about us.”

“We know his secret, too,” Connor reminded him and then marked Hank’s body up so he looked like a leopard—all below the collar. That was Wednesday, and the bruises still haven’t completely faded. When he’s undressing at night, he touches them, pressing his fingers in deep, feeling and remembering the pleasure and the pressure of Connor’s mouth.

_ So goddamn lucky. _

“Hank…” Connor groans. “Will you please…?”

“What do you want me to do for you?” Hank asks, claiming Connor’s lips for long seconds so that he can’t reply. They have to get to work, but fuck it. When, in the last four years, has Hank Anderson been on time? His android needs his attention, and Hank’s more than willing to provide.

“I just need _ you_.”

“Hand or mouth, Con?” Hank asks, and fights away the errant thought that there’s _ more _they could do. So much more. 

But Hank doesn’t want to overwhelm Connor. Doesn’t matter that he’s CyberLife’s most sophisticated technology or that he can solve cases better than almost anyone on the force. It doesn’t even matter that he can take out an enemy target without breaking a proverbial sweat. When it comes to this bedroom stuff? Connor’s still a newbie and Hank wants to take it slow. Or maybe that’s all bullshit and Hank’s really just taking it slow for his own sake.

“Mouth?”

“That a question or a statement?” Hank teases.

Connor groans, nipping lightly at Hank’s bottom lip. “Mouth, Hank. _ Please._”

This’ll only be the third time Hank’s ever given head. He’s still not sure he’s any _ good _ at it. Connor makes noises—tons of ’em—but he doesn’t give much in the way of direction. Each time, Hank’s been enthusiastic about it. He tries hard, watches his teeth. He doesn’t _ think _ Connor’s pain receptors are on, but he’s not about to take any chances. And each time, too, he goes as deep as he can, which turns out to be not all that deep. Fucking pathetic gag reflex. But Connor’s gotten off both times so far. Here’s hoping for success number three.

He drags the boxer shorts—Hank’s own boxer shorts—off Connor’s body. Connor’s hips are slimmer than Hank’s, and so they slide down easily. The motion reveals a glorious, hairless expanse of skin and hard muscle. Connor’s arousal is prominent, the head of his cock flushed a rosy red. He’s learned to keep the flow of lubricant to a minimum since Hank promised he’d be able to slick Connor up just fine with his own saliva.

It’s a simple formula: hand = lubricant, mouth = saliva.

Hank tosses the boxers off the end of the bed and grabs one of Connor’s ankles, lifting his leg up so he can kiss his partner’s calf and the spot behind Connor’s knee that makes him jump and startle and shiver with pleasure. He kisses the inside of his thigh, sucking along the flesh and marveling at the white spots of under armor that appear and then disappear. Connor squirms under the assault and the noises he makes are food for Hank’s soul.

Hank hooks Connor’s leg over his shoulder and then continues his ministrations up his body, running his tongue along Connor’s balls which makes him about come up off the bed. He grabs for Hank and holds onto him by the hair and begs. The begging makes Hank feel good. Makes him feel powerful. 

And Connor’s LED spins yellow over and over and that makes Hank feel good, too. Because somehow, against all odds, he _ confounds _ Connor. Hank’ll be fifty-four next month and somehow he’s got this young lover that he can _ confound. _And it’s the best thing to happen to Hank in a long fucking time.

Connor practically shouts when Hank drags his tongue from the base of Connor’s cock up along the shaft, then circles the head.

He’d told Con not to go on the Internet, not to do research, to let Hank help him, train him, instead. And what did Hank do? Went straight to a website that promised to teach the ins and outs of giving quality head. The page was full of typos and every once in a while, a porn ad would pop up, but Hank didn’t care. He couldn’t bear to disappoint Connor by not knowing what he was doing.

“Hank…” Connor pleads as Hank takes him into his mouth. 

Hank swirls his tongue around the head, dragging noises from Connor that sound deliciously like errors. And then he bobs up and down the best he can, building a slow, steady rhythm that amplifies and grows sloppy, until Connor writhes beneath him, digging his heel into Hank’s back and pushing himself up off the bed with his other leg.

He’s so goddamn emotive, so lost in physical ecstasy.

And he doesn’t last.

And it’s such a fucking compliment, the way Connor crests and breaks, spilling whatever the fuck that liquid is into Hank’s mouth. Hank drinks him down until Connor begs him to stop. And then Hank lets his android’s softening cock slip free and he leans back and grins triumphantly.

“Good?” he asks, smugly observing Connor’s LED spin red for two full seconds before going back to yellow and then finally, _ finally_, settling to a contented blue.

Connor nods and reaches out for Hank, dragging him down into his arms.

“Let me do something for you too, Hank.”

Sweeter fucking words’ve never been spoken.

* * *

Connor and Hank have a slew of open cases. That’s the nature of the job. But Hank keeps circling back to the android politician. He’s studied the crime scene photos over and over again, hoping to glean _ something _from that disgusting manifesto the murderer carved into her body. But the words are just the rantings of a madman. If there’s rhyme or reason, it’s lost on Hank.

They’ve had a few leads, followed up with potential witnesses from the neighborhood, but so far they’ve come up empty. Someone saw a Detroit Taxi around 7:30 p.m. (or maybe it was 8:00, or maybe that was on Tuesday) and they pulled records. But a lot of goddamn people use Detroit Taxi. Connor runs the names, sets up interviews. Nothing stands out.

Hank fucking hates coming up empty, especially on a case like this. And especially when there’s family involved. And goddamn if there’s not family involved with this one.

A kid. Regina Hope had a kid. A YK500. She’d been there that night, sleeping—hibernating—in her bedroom while that monstrous motherfucker ended Regina’s life and desecrated her corpse. A close friend of Regina’s is taking care of her now. Hank can’t stand questioning children, so Connor handled that part, while Hank watched from behind the glass like a coward.

But when that little girl looked up at Connor and asked, tears streaming down her cheeks, “Are you going to find who did this to my mommy?” Hank was out of the DPD and halfway down the street before he knew what he’d done.

He has to shove it all back down inside. Can’t let the family get to him.

Show Hank a cop that says they don't take some cases personally, and Hank’ll show you a liar. He’s got boxes of evidence at home from a pair of cases he’s been working for almost twenty years. Sometimes he’ll pull out the files and spread everything out on the table and stare and ruminate and drink. Well, he used to drink. These days, he stares and he ruminates and he calls Connor over to help.

Connor’s been enthusiastic about aiding him with the cold cases, especially after Richard solved a thirteen-year-old murder just last week.

Connor licks evidence, and just ’cause Hank would give his left fucking nut to solve these murders, he lets him. Hank knows that if he can’t solve these cases, he’ll take the guilt with him to the grave.

“Lieutenant Anderson?” Connor says, setting a cup of coffee down in front of him. Hank blinks, his eyes stinging with dryness and fatigue. He looks up from his monitor to see Connor staring at him, his brows knit in concern. “Your heart rate is elevated and you’re perspiring.”

“Just thinking,” Hank says, blinking again and turning back to his monitor. “You’d think a goddamn revolution would’ve changed things. But, people are more pissed off than before.” He taps his display, his finger distorting the image of Regina Hope’s body. “I just keep looking at this. Carved her up like she was a fucking turkey.”

Connor’s hand on Hank’s shoulder is heavy but gentle. A firm reassurance.

“Post-revolution Detroit is not really all that different from pre-revolution Detroit,” Connor explains. “There were always dangers. There was always crime. There was always mistrust. But there _ have _ been some changes, Hank.” His smile is sweet and he winks at Hank. “After all, before the revolution, your note board was covered in anti-android stickers. Before the revolution, I was firmly a machine. Look where we are now.”

“If you must continue your ill-advised entanglement, may I suggest you be less _ obvious _about it?” Richard asks as he walks up to Hank’s desk, wearing that snide-ass look on his face. That look is just one of the many things that make him so different from Connor. “RK800, your hand placement is very telling.”

Hank’s mood was plenty sour without Gavin’s android fuckbuddy coming and making it worse. And because of that he growls, “Why don’t you go drag Gavin into a closet, and leave us alone?”

Connor and Richard look at each other, and it’s kinda funny, because for once, their expressions match. Wide eyes, slightly-parted lips, light flushes on their cheeks. In that moment, they look like twins, honestly.

“You—!” Richard snarls and snatches Connor’s arm, their skin turning white from the point of contact. Data-exchange flashes in their eyes, both men’s expressions freezing. When they break apart, Connor stumbles back. Even the normally calm and collected Richard rocks back on his heels.

Hank expects Connor to be upset. After all, Richard is a goddamn bully. 

Instead, it’s Richard whose face is… Well, Hank’s not quite sure how to describe it, but Richard definitely seems out of sorts. He sets his jaw. He glares. But he doesn’t storm away. His LED is blinking yellow, and so is Connor’s and Hank realizes after a second that they’re talking without speaking out loud.

After a long, silent moment, Richard gives a stiff nod and then he turns and walks away.

“What the hell was that shit all about?” Hank asks.

Connor’s lips quirk into a small, puzzled smile. “I just...gave RK900 some advice.” 

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes Cosmo mine a diamond! ◦°˚\\(*❛‿❛)/˚°◦ Please consider telling me what you think!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a coffee war on. (Obviously it’s Nines’ fault.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m pretty sure this is not how Connor meant his advice to be used...

**-BONUS-**  
  


There’s coffee on Gavin’s desk when he walks into the bullpen. ‘Det. Reed’ is written on the side of the paper cup in CyberLife Sans.

Gavin stares at the coffee for almost a full minute before deciding it won’t detonate if he sits down, and then he stares at it a while longer.

The RK800+100 is nowhere to be seen as Gavin logs into his computer, checks his messages, and continues, periodically, to glance at the coffee.

He skims a briefing.

He runs a set of plates from an ongoing case.

He pokes the coffee cup with a capped pen, and he glares at it.

Because some android phcker (obviously Nines) put this here to mess with his head. And even if the station _ is _ full of deviant androids now, there’s only one robot that would take the time to freak Gavin’s shit out with a coffee.

It’s seven ’til when he takes his pen and scoots the coffee all the way across his desk. Holding up the trash can, he watches the paper cup teetering on the edge of the desk, before it falls, top-over-bottom, into the bin below.

Gavin is a motherphcking man of action!

It’s _ sorted. _ It’s _ handled. _

He gets up to go take a piss.

When he gets back to his desk (godpchkingdammit all to hell!) there’s _ another _ cup of coffee just sitting there. 

Gavin looks around for Nines—still absent—and then looks into the trash can—there’s the original cup of coffee, brown liquid pooling around it like a murder victim at a fresh crime scene.

This time Gavin picks up the coffee. He frowns at the textured surface of the cup. The Happy Bean logo smiles back at him. There’s a Happy Bean across the street. But there’s no way the culprit (obviously Nines) could get over there, place an order, pay, return, plant the coffee, and disappear, all in no more time than it took Gavin to piss.

So, if that doesn’t scan, did the android have the coffee ready to go before Gavin even left?

He opens the lid and takes a whiff of the steaming liquid. Smells like Happy Bean’s house blend, which is what Gavin always orders. So whoever is doing this (obviously Nines), 1) knows what Gavin drinks and 2) didn’t just steal an assload of Happy Bean cups and then fill them with station coffee.

With a grunt, Gavin chucks the second coffee into the bin.

Then he gets to work typing up a report he’s been putting off for, oh, like a week or something. Mr. Android Phckforbrains could easily do _ all _ their reports. Think, blink, and it’s all signed, sealed, and delivered. But no, of course not. Why would the Devil send his favorite son to Earth to do _ paperwork_? Of course, the anti-robo-Christ insists Gavin do it. Sometimes he even reminds Gavin of pending paperwork in the middle of phcking… presumably because he wants to make their sex as traumatic as possible.

By hour three, Gavin is hurting for it. (Coffee, not traumatic sex.) And even though he Capital-K _ Knows _someone (obviously Nines) is gonna put another Happy Bean coffee on his desk while he’s gone, Gavin stands up, stretches, and walks to the break room. Chen and Person are jawing about something, and that goofy-ass phcker, Connor, is standing near the door with his hands in his pockets, watching the news.

“Where’s your idiot counterpart?” Gavin demands, shoulder-checking Connor who, unlike Demonico Robotico, doesn’t go rigid and try to break Gavin’s arm.

Connor tilts his head curiously and says, “I assume your crude insult is meant to refer to Lt. Anderson?”

“Gosh, aren’t you brilliant,” Gavin says and pours himself a cup of coffee. “You flyin’ solo today, you plastic prick?”

“Lt. Anderson is currently logging evidence,” Connor says, ignoring Gavin’s name-calling.

Connor has such a ridiculous phcking face. His weirdly long neck makes his jaw look thinner than Nines’, his brown eyes are dopey, and his freckles are childish. Plus that tie. Which he’s straightening, now and always. _ Jesus_.

Gavin freezes with the coffee cup half-way to his mouth.

It smells like Happy Bean house blend.

“Who made the phckin’ coffee?” Gavin demands of the room at large. (Obviously, Nines.)

“Richard,” Tina says, looking up curiously from her conversation.

(See! Told ya!)

Gavin dumps his third cup and goes back to his desk where he karate chops the fourth cup into the quickly filling bin. Then he spins around, eyes scanning the station for Nines.

By 11:00 a.m., Gavin’s got the shakes worse than a certain fat, washed-up Lieutenant the day after a bender. He can barely see straight and the smell of Happy Bean is _ everywhere_.

Worse? (Better?) his phcking partner is still nowhere to be seen! So Gavin spends the remainder of the morning smashing furiously at his keyboard, snarling at Miller, and flinging a frozen tablet at Connor’s head. (He isn’t impressed _ at all _ when the android phcker catches it inches from his face.) When it’s _ finally _ time for lunch he stands up, knocking his chair over, and marches out the front door of the DPD.

He’s going to Happy Bean.

He’s going to buy his own _ phcking _coffee.

And he’s going to drink it standing _ right there at the motherphcking counter, _ and then he’s going to order _ two more_.

He glares down every person in his way, and the people of Detroit, usually unflappable, stumble out of his path as he barges across the crowded sidewalk, a contrail of murderous doom following him. The sound of the bell on the door as Gavin bursts into the Happy Bean is both nerve-jangling and comforting.

He cuts in line. 

He flashes his badge.

He curses out a little old lady that tries to stand between him and his _ goddamn-motherphcking-coffee_.

And then he waits at the Pick Up counter and he grins because finally, _ finally, _ phckin’ finally, he’s going to get some java in his bloodstream.

“Hello, Detective,” Nines purrs in his ear and Gavin about comes out of his boots.

“You,” he snarls low and feels Nines’ hand on the small of his back, a gentle pressure, that, for once, isn’t guiding him to a bathroom phck. Well...maybe not ‘for once.’ There was that other time...

The barista’s only gotten the ‘Ga’ part of his name out when Gavin snatches the coffee out of his hand and pulls it close. To Nines, he growls, “I’m not letting this out of my sight, so don’t think you can slip anything into it this time.”

“Of course not, Detective,” Nines says, maneuvering Gavin toward a small table in the back of the coffee shop. “Though I’m surprised you have any memory of that night. You were quite impaired.”

“Phcking Demonbot Hellwires.”

“Oh, good, you’ve given me a last name.”

Gavin plops into his seat, his fingers digging into the cup. He inhales the aroma of the coffee through the tiny sip hole. He tilts the cup back. The liquid burns his tongue. Gavin does not give a rat’s naked asshole. It’s coffee. _ Finally. _

“Your body seems to be suffering from caffeine withdrawal,” Nines tells him smugly. “If you’d accepted the coffee I offered earlier, you could’ve avoided this situation.”

“Yeah, and if _ you _ hadn’t poisoned my drink, I might’ve taken the coffee instead of having to go through this hell.”

“Well, it’s fine,” Nines finally responds, his full lips turned up just slightly. “After all, it’s brought us here to date number two, now hasn’t it?”

“I...wha..._ No! _ ” Gavin splutters, coffee dribbling down his chin. He yanks a napkin out of the holder. His voice is muffled as he wipes his face. “Abso-phcking-lutely _ not_, plastic phcker. No. This is not a _ date_. We are _ not _dating. No. Kindly eat shit and die.”

Nines’ smile is...complicated. 

Sadistic. 

Cool. 

Mischievous. 

_ Knowing_. 

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes Cosmo do...THE THING! <3 Please consider letting me know what you think!


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The infection gets worse! (OR: _What? Clothes shopping doesn't get YOU all hot and bothered?_)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are too damn good to me T^T <3 I hope you know how much I have ENJOYED each and every comment! Thank you so much for your kindness. Have a good weekend!

“Never thought I’d see the day.” Hank chuckles as Connor steps out of the dressing room in new jeans and a tee-shirt. The jeans are par for the course, maybe a little tighter than usual, but the tee-shirt... It’s a snug, light-blue v-neck that looks 500% less douchey on Connor than it would on Gavin Reed. Hank’s especially fond of the 1970s faded-print DETROIT written across the front.

Hank crosses his arms over his chest and surveys his android. 

“I think I like how this looks,” Connor says, holding out his arms, his ears flushing pink at the tips.

“You seem comfortable.”

“I am,” Connor agrees. “It’s...different. But I believe the color suits my skin tone.”

“Sure,” Hank says.

“And given how you’re staring at my torso, accompanied by the increase in your heart rate, Lieutenant, I believe you think it suits me as well.”

Connor’s lips quirk mischievously and Hank cocks an eyebrow. His voice drops low. “So we’re just telling it like it is, huh?”

Connor nods and steps back into the dressing room, stripping off the shirt and neatly folding it without closing the door. He glances coyly over his bare shoulder.

“You never told me if you liked the thrill…” Connor’s voice drops to match Hank’s. “You know? Being intimate in public places. And now that you’ve taught me the basics, there’s no concern there."

Hank’s breath catches. Christ, this kid. Is he seriously propositioning Hank right now? It’s one thing to consider doing this in the back of the Buick, parked in a secluded area by the lake, _ at night_, and a totally different thing to do it… _ here. _

The electronic locks on the other stalls all read UNOCCUPIED, but Hank pushes open a few doors to be sure. _ Seems _ like they’re alone.

Connor’s definitely feeling… _playful_… today.

Hank noticed it this morning when he woke up with a very warm, very wet, tongue exploring his morning wood. Connor had practically whined when Hank pushed him away, but his bladder wasn’t going to let him enjoy the, er, attention. So he went and took a piss and had barely walked back through the bedroom door when Connor was on him again, dragging him back down into bed.

Then at breakfast, Connor put food on the stove, made Hank a cup of coffee, and parked his ass right in Hank’s lap. He kissed his neck playfully and murmured what Hank _ thinks _was supposed to be dirty talk. In reality, it was just a collection of oddly factual statements about their respective anatomy.

“You’re sure eager this morning,” Hank had told him, kissing Connor until the bacon started to burn.

Hank’s not exactly a young guy, and he’s definitely not an android. An eager, horny Connor is sometimes a challenge to keep up with. They ended up showering together and he got Connor off and thought maybe that was the end of it, but now, Connor’s motioning to him and his arousal is not subtle, especially in those tight jeans.

“Con…” Hank says.

“Please Lieu—_ Hank_,” Connor says lowly. He touches his LED which glows yellow for a moment, processing, and says, “There.”

When Hank looks, the electronic locks on every stall now say OCCUPIED.

“In case anyone comes in.”

“Connor, I don’t think we… I mean… _ Goddammit, kid_, don’t unzip your pants.”

“As Detective Reed would say,” Connor practically purrs. “What are they going to do? Call the police?”

“Jesus, we’re taking life advice from Gavin now?” 

Well, seems Hank’s got zero self-preservation instincts today, because he slips into the large stall with Connor, locking the door behind him.

Connor immediately presses against him. “It’s so hot in here, Hank,” he says. 

“It’s warm,” Hank agrees and lets out a small noise of his own as Connor rubs the palm of his hand along the bulge in Hank’s jeans. “But Con—”

Connor’s on his mouth, shutting him down, shutting him up, immediately. His tongue probes, searches, _ takes. _And Connor’s hands dig into Hank’s arms with bruising force. For long minutes they just hold onto each other, falling back against the wall with a very obvious thud that Hank hopes won’t bring anyone running.

And they kiss and they grope one another and yeah, Hank’s hard too, but Connor is downright rutting against his thigh like a dog and when Hank finally pulls back, he sees that Connor’s skin isn’t just flushed, it’s bright red.

“Whoa, whoa, hold on…”

“It’s _ hot_, Hank,” Connor pleads again and there’s a distinctive shift in his tone. Where before he sounded playful and horny, now he sounds… desperate. His LED is flickering between yellow and red. Something’s wrong.

Hank holds onto Connor’s arms. “We’re leaving.”

Connor makes a low keening noise, something Hank’s never heard before, and it breaks his heart.

“Please, Hank, I need it. I need _ you_. Please don’t leave me like this.”

“I’m sorry, Con,” Hank soothes gently. “Tuck it into your waistband, let’s get you dressed, ’cause we’ve gotta get out of here.”

“My new clothes,” Connor protests.

“I’ll have them hold ’em for us. I’ll come back later and pay. Let’s get you home and I’ll help, okay? As long and as much as you need.”

* * *

‘As long and as much’ as Connor needs turns out to be way too fucking much for Hank, but that doesn’t mean he stops trying to help. He brings Connor off with his hand twice and once with his mouth, with very short refractions in between. By the fourth time he leaves Connor to handle it because it’s clear something’s really wrong, and Hank needs to _ fix it_.

It’s like those old commercials for Viagra. _ For erections lasting more than four hours… _

Hank goes into the living room, trying to ignore the moans that follow him. He walks past Sumo, patting the big dog absently on the head, and gets on the computer. It doesn’t take long to find what he needs, just a simple web search. 

And then he dials the phone.

Even pressing the keys makes Hank’s stomach turn, but he doesn’t know what else to do. They’ve consulted Richard—didn’t do a goddamn thing. The infection is obviously getting worse. Connor is in incredible distress and Hank can’t help him.

So, he make the call.

“CyberLife customer service, this is Yolanda speaking, can I please have your name and the android’s serial number?”

No fucking way in hell.

“Yeah, uh, this is Hank...Houston.” Hank clears his throat. “Dunno the serial number.” He taps his fingers against the desk and stares blankly at the CyberLife _ Contact Us _ page. He can still hear Connor in the bedroom, but the sound is distant and muffled.

“Do you have a model number, sir?”

It’s not like he can just say that Connor’s an RK800 model. CyberLife would figure it out in a second. _ Unless… _

Hank smirks as the idea pops into his head and he says, “It’s an RK_ 900_, actually. A police model.”

Yolanda is silent for a second and Hank hears the sound of fingers on a keyboard.

“Alright,” Yolanda says after a moment. “I see you’re calling from the Detroit area. Can you tell me the precinct where the RK900 works? I should be able to pull the serial number from our records.”

Fuck him running.

“Sure, uh, it’s the Central Station. 1301 3rd Avenue.” He rattles off the address.

“I’m looking into the android’s last update and bios. Just one second, please, sir.”

It occurs to Hank suddenly that there’s a good chance Yolanda is an android herself. Honestly, it’s probably been a long time since Hank spoke to a human customer service rep.

“Alright, I have pulled up his specs. Richard, correct?”

“Yeah,” Hank says.

“What can I help you with today, Mr. Houston?”

“I...think he’s got a virus. Think he caught it during an investigation at an Eden Club, from one of the Traci models."

“I doubt it,” Yolanda says, her words uncertain but her tone confident. “Generally speaking, the RK900 series is virus-proof.”

“Sure,” Hank says. “Well, look, let me be frank. Whatever’s happened, his dick is functional now. His temperature sensors, all kinds of stuff. And he’s horny, alright? Except, today, something happened and now even when he gets off, he’s still aroused. He seems...distressed.”

Android or human, he’s gotta give it to Yolanda. She’s completely professional, not even missing a beat at the obvious admission that Hank has intimate knowledge of a police android’s sexual awakening.

The sound of fingers on the keyboard continue and Yolanda says, “Sir, I’ve done two full scans now and I’m not seeing any errors in this RK900’s programming.”

Hank grunts. Obviously there’s _gotta be_ a virus. Richard wouldn’t just fuck Gavin unless something was seriously wrong with his programming. But maybe he’s managed to conceal it, even from Cyberlife.

“Could it be…” Yolanda pauses for a long second, “That you’ve mixed up the RK900 with the similar RK800 series model that also works at that precinct?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, _ fuck_.

Hank is silent for a long time, trying to decide what to do. He shouldn’t have called, but what were his options?

“I...may have mixed them up,” he says slowly.

“Listen, Lieutenant.”

Double fuck. Not only does Yolanda know he’s talking about Connor, she knows exactly who he is. Hank shakes his head, silently fuming.

“CyberLife no longer officially supports upgrades for the RK800 model.”

“Right.” Hank sighs low. Like he really expected anything else.

“I can’t even check the specs of that particular model.”

For a long time Hank just stares at his wall, wondering what the hell he’s supposed to do. His android is in the bedroom, moaning, the wet sounds of masturbation drifting down the hallway. He’s non-functioning, or maybe over-functioning. Is Hank supposed to just leave Connor in constant distress?

“But…” She pauses and Hank wants to snap _ get the fuck on with it_, but instead he musters all his patience and waits. “I can say that there is a temporary fix for the HR400 and WR400 models which are currently experiencing a feedback loop of sexual desire. I could send you information on how to access that download.”

“He doesn’t have access to the CyberLife network.”

“That’s true,” Yolanda agrees, though she doesn’t sound concerned at all. “However, there are some external websites that host the download. Could you send me your email address? I’ll forward you a few links.”

* * *

Connor’s back is to the door when Hank walks into the room and his shoulders are shaking. He’s never seen Connor cry before, but here it is. One of the most advanced androids in the world, reduced to tears. Hank’s heart, which wasn’t exactly stone before, crumbles to powder.

He slips into the bed and pulls Connor to him, whispering comforting words and holding him tight.

Connor looks up at him, tears shimmering on his cheeks.

“It...feels…” he says, his face pained. “It feels...bad.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No,” Connor says, “I don’t think this is pain, but it’s...discomfort. I don’t like it. I...want it to stop.”

For a moment Hank has a horribly selfish thought that Connor might be turned off of sex forever because of this experience, but he shoves it away with force. That’s a problem for another day. Right now? Connor needs Hank’s help.

Hank kisses away a tear from the corner of Connor’s eye.

“I’ve got a web address for you, kid,” he says. “I forwarded it to you.”

For a second Connor’s LED, which has been a steady red the whole time, goes yellow and then he looks up at Hank. “CyberLife?”

“It’s up to you whether you want to trust them or not.”

“Do you?”

“Dunno,” Hank says. “But… I don’t know anyone else who might have a solution. I don’t think Richard is actually infected which”—_which is weird as shit, because that means he and Gavin are just...fucking_—“y’know, and I’m not sure what to do.”

“I’ll...try it,” Connor says, and reaches out for Hank’s hand. “But, Hank?”

“Yeah, Con?”

“If it doesn’t work…”

“It’ll work.”

“If it _ doesn’t work_,” Connor says again, “or if something goes wrong… I’ll need to shut down.”

Fucking hell. No. No no no no no.

“No,” Hank says, and instead of reflecting the fiery anger he feels at the situation, the word comes out strained and desperate.

“Just temporarily, while you look for a solution.”

“Connor…”

“Will you please kiss me, Hank?” Connor asks, and what’s Hank supposed to do? He leans over and kisses Connor’s lips gently. When Connor opens his eyes again, his LED has stabilized in a resolute yellow. “I’m going to download the program now.”

“Alright,” Hank says and he waits.

And waits.

And waits.

And then something goes wrong.

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback keeps Cosmo dancing all night! ﾟ+｡:.ﾟヽ(*´∀`)ﾉﾟ.:｡+ﾟ Please consider letting me know what you think!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well...Gavin knows now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s bonus chapter day! <3 Which also means it’s Sunday… Which means tomorrow is back to work… ;__; OK, let’s go back to focusing on the good: IT’S BONUS CHAPTER DAY!

**-BONUS-**

Gavin Reed lets out a very unmanly scream as a pair of arms wrap around his waist. Arms that were NOT there ten minutes ago. Or were they?! Was there someone hiding in the darkened corner of his room, just waiting for him to drift off to sleep?! And phcking mother of _ God _ if that’s not Nines, Gavin is putting a bullet between someone’s eyes. And if it _ is _ Nines, well, then Gavin is putting a bullet between someone’s eyes.

He goes for the gun he keeps under his pillow but finds his arm pinned down with inhuman strength. That’s when he notices the eerie blue glow coming from behind him.

“Stop yelling, Detective,” Nines commands in his ear like he’s a goddamn drill sergeant.

“I’ll scream if I want to, Tin Can!” Gavin shouts and of course his neighbor, who must just wait by the phcking wall, bangs out his anger at Gavin’s volume. 

Gavin wriggles hard to get away, so Nines, like the Techno-Nazi he is, throws his leg over Gavin’s legs, pinning him even further.

To make matters worse, there’s a definite android boner poking him in the ass.

“What the phck do you think you’re doing?”

“We are cuddling,” Nines says and bites the place where Gavin’s neck meets his shoulder. Not ‘nips playfully,’ not ‘worries the skin,’ not ‘sucks and licks’—no, he _ bites_. Bites like a phcking vampire wanting to suck all of Gavin’s blood and Gavin howls and tries to struggle, only to find himself wrapped up even tighter. Creeping vines that constrict as he moves.

“Calm down. You’ll enjoy this.”

“Why the phck would I enjoy being squeezed to death? Also, where the phck did you come from, you goddamn stalkerdroid?!”

“I was waiting for you to get comfortable so that I could slip into bed with you. It’s what RK800 does.”

Gavin goes suddenly still and he very slowly turns his head.

“Connor..._sleeps_...with you?”

All sorts of thoughts go through Gavin Reed’s head at this moment. When? And how? And where? And why? But the craziest thought? The phcking loony bin-esque nuttiest? Is this one (verbatim): _ What? Huh? Connor? But they’re like twins and… Does he like it? No. Just no. Seriously, phcking no. No to RK900 + RK800. What would that even be? Like RK1700? No. Absolutely no phcking way. The Demon Bot of Hades is supposed to be… _

_ … _

_ … _

_ … _

_ … _

_ Mine. _

Gavin wants to barf and bleach his brain at the same time because did he seriously just think those thoughts?! Did the word ‘mine’ honestly just enter his head?!

“Not _ with me_,” Nines says smoothly, slowly running his tongue along what’s undoubtedly an arterial wound in Gavin’s neck (he’ll bleed out any time now). “With Lieutenant Anderson.”

Well, that did it. Now there’s nothing left in Gavin’s head except static because… what? (And phcking hell, Gavin’s feeling relief. RELIEF. Jesus phcking Christ on crack, relief?!) It takes a few moments, but Gavin recovers his annoyance.

“You’re telling me _ Connor _ and that alcoholic loser _ Anderson _ are... _ phcking_?!”

“I’m telling you that they cuddle at night,” Nines says, and as if to demonstrate, he squeezes Gavin tighter. He’s pretty sure he’s losing feeling in his fingertips. “But yes, they are ‘phcking’ as well. Well, only oral stimulation and mutual masterbation so far. They are quite far behind us, if you view this as a competition.”

“_Compe_—no, I do not. This is not a _ competition _ because we haven’t even entered. We have no entry. We have _ you _ leaping on _ me _ and _ me _ hating _ you _ and—”

“If that’s all there is, then why are you hard, Detective?” Nines asks, running his hand down the length of Gavin’s body and firmly gripping the erection Gavin’s been ignoring.

Gavin swallows and tries to think of Hank-phcking-Anderson getting a blowjob from Connor because if anything’s sure to deflate a boner, it’s that. But Nines has incredibly talented hands and any de-arousal he might experience is counteracted by the efforts of Pure Evil, Inc.

“And, Detective? If you’re thinking you might use RK800 and Lieutenant Anderson’s relationship against them either professionally or personally? I would advise against it. They know about us as well.”

If you were to ask him later, Gavin would tell you he’s pretty sure he strokes out in that moment. And it's all _Tech Magazine's _Machine of the Year's fault.

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback brings Cosmo boundless joy <3 Please consider letting me know what you think!


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor’s got a small problem the size of a large problem. Who better to help than the dumpster fire duo?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tonight, on a Very Special _Glitches_…

Hank bangs on the door, rattling it in its frame. He waits a second, listens for sounds from inside the apartment. The television is on—or maybe the radio—providing a steady drone of noise that doesn’t break when he pounds his fist against the wood. He knocks again, harder and louder.

“Reed!” he shouts.

Down the drab hallway a neighbor peeks his head out, gawking openly. Hank ignores him and continues to knock.

“Reed! Open the goddamn door!”

It takes another ten seconds, but Gavin, dressed in nothing but a pair of plaid boxer shorts, finally snatches the door open and snarls, “Someone better be phckin’ dead, or I’m gonna—” He breaks off when he sees Hank. “What the phck are _ you _ doin’ here, Anderson?”

“I’m looking for Richard.”

Gavin guffaws a little too loudly and scratches his bare stomach. “Why would he be _ here_? Try the station or, I dunno, whatever holding tank CyberLife puts ’em in when they aren’t in service.”

“You get attacked by a wild cat?” Hank asks and Gavin follows Hank’s gaze. His chest is covered in claw marks. “Maybe one that bit your neck too?”

“Jealous?” Gavin sneers and Hank rolls his eyes.

“Look, I know he’s here, so just—” When Gavin goes to shut the door in Hank’s face like the mature adult he is, Hank shoulders past him. He ignores the detective’s protests, and calls to the apartment at large. “Richard? Are you here?”

Richard appears at the end of the hall, materializing like a ghost. Unlike Gavin he’s fully dressed, down to his shoes.

“Lieutenant Anderson,” Richard says coolly.

“Richard,” Hank says, “I need your help.”

“You couldn’t have had Connor contact me remotely?”

“Android’s got a point,” Gavin says, grabbing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter off the hall table. “What’s so goddamn important that it brought you blazing down to my neck of the woods, huh?”

Hank wishes he could just shake hands with Richard and dump the last twenty-four hours worth of info straight from his brain into the androids’ without having to speak a word of it out loud. As it stands, Gavin Reed plays audience, climbing onto the back of his couch in his underwear, lit cigarette dangling from his lips, and staring at Hank with a sneer on his face.

Richard’s LED flashes yellow. “RK800 isn’t responding to my connection requests.”

“He’s offline,” Hank says, ignoring the snide noise Gavin makes. If Hank thought the man was an unbearable asshole in the bullpen, he’s ten times worse at home. “The symptoms of the virus, I dunno, escalated somehow. He was alright last night, this morning he wasn’t… and it just kept getting worse.”

“Wait a sec,” Gavin says, taking a drag off his cigarette. “What the hell is this virus? Didn’t think plastic phckers could catch a cold. You infected too, Tin Can?”

“No,” Hank and Richard say at the same time and Richard casts a suspicious glance in Hank’s direction. He raises a dark brow. That’s right, Hank technically shouldn’t know one way or the other.

“CyberLife,” Hank explains. “They really don’t give a fuck about your privacy.” Richard’s look darkens at the words, and Hank turns to address Gavin. “Look, Reed, this is gonna get awkward, so let’s go ahead and just lay our cards out on the table, alright? I’m with Connor, you’re with Richard—”

Gavin splutters hotly, sliding off the back of the couch and onto the floor. He squares his shoulders like he’s about to tell someone to hold his beer. “I am _ not _‘with’ Nines, you phckin’ take that back, old man.”

“We are in a sexual relationship,” Richard corrects smoothly. “And we have been for some months now.”

Gavin glares hard at the android, his lip curling. “Doesn’t mean shit.”

Richard’s expression doesn’t change, but his LED processes yellow for a quick second before returning to a steady blue. “We’ve been on two dates and have plans for a third—”

“Phcking lying piece of techno-garbage. I never agreed to—”

“—Which, by definition, means we are dating. Additionally, last night we shared a bed for more than just fornication—we cuddled.”

Gavin’s face mottles a hostile red and he jabs the two fingers holding his cigarette at Hank’s chest. “I swear to God, Anderson, you phcking say one word of this to _ anyone—_”

“Anyway,” Hank snaps. “Like I was saying. I don’t give a fuck about your sex and/or dating life, Gavin. We _ both _ know the other one’s relationship business, so there you go. Mutually assured destruction. Honestly, if you’ll just fuck off and give me ten minutes alone with your boyfriend—”

“He’s not my—”

“—then you won’t have to listen to all the details.”

“Why the phck would I care?”

“Because the virus is sexual.”

“Oh my GOD.” Gavin snorts and throws back his head. “That’s rich! Your robophcktoy has an STD? Christ. Jesus, you sure know how to pick ’em, eh, Anderson?”

The sound of Gavin’s obnoxious voice makes Hank’s hands twitch and curl into fists. If he weren’t so focused on Connor, he’d lay this asshole out flat.

“How the shit does an android get an STD?”

“Eden Club,” Richard supplies, and when Gavin opens his mouth, Richard makes a shushing motion with his hand. “Before you ask, no. Just no. Whatever ‘brilliant’ question you have, Detective, the answer is no. The virus wasn’t contracted in a sexual encounter. In fact, the RK800 had no sexual drive before the virus.”

“When it turned on, Connor developed, y’know, urges that he hadn’t had before,” Hank agrees.

Now Gavin swivels around to face Richard, accusation written all across his face, his eyes wide. “Ha! There! See! You _ are _infected.”

“I assure you, Detective, I am not.” Richard sniffs.

“Oh yeah, so you just _ decided _to come to my house and leap on me and rip my clothes off, huh?”

Richard says nothing for a long minute, he just stares and Hank can hear the proverbial crickets chirping. Then, arrogantly, he says, “Correct.”

“But...what...I…”

“Close your mouth, Gavin,” Hank says and turns to Richard, done thinking and talking about their fucked up mess of a ‘love story.’ “So things have been normal, or rather, the new normal. Fast forward to today and Connor got, y’know, aroused. He’d get off and then he’d be right back up, aroused again. But it was out of control. He was distressed. It got so bad, I ended up calling CyberLife tech support.”

“I expect you to explain how you came to discuss _ my _personal details with customer service.”

“Some other time, Richard,” Hank says and they both ignore Gavin who broadly announces to the room that he’ll need something to drink if he has to keep listening to this shit. “The girl on the phone seemed nice enough, but that doesn’t mean anything. I shouldn’t have trusted her. Connor downloaded a patch or update or something from a website and then he shut down and he hasn’t woken up since.”

Richard nods, his LED flashing yellow.

“Take me to him.”

* * *

Sumo slides off the couch, wagging his tail as Hank walks into the house, but the second Richard and Gavin step over the threshold, the barking starts. Great booming barks that fill the room, in a tone somewhere between playful and concerned.

“Can’t you shut that phcking dog up?” Gavin demands and Hank reminds himself that if he punches Gavin in the jaw, he’ll probably break his hand, and who has time for that shit?

“You’re welcome to go out and wait in the car,” Richard says pointedly.

“Easy, Sumo,” Hank says, walking over to Sumo and patting his head. _ Good boy, _he thinks. The dog knows a walking disaster when he smells it. Sumo gives his fingers a lick and tilts his head, eager for scratches behind the ear.

Gavin grumbles under his breath and plops down in Hank’s computer chair, spinning idly.

“Remind me again why you decided to tag along?” Hank asks.

Gavin crosses his arms over his chest and glares petulantly at the wall.

“He won’t admit it aloud,” Richard says smoothly, “But he’s quite curious about the virus. Since hearing about it, he has convinced himself that I couldn’t possibly desire him sexually without being infected myself. I suspect it has something to do with his low self-esteem.”

“Yo, Dr. Android, kindly go phck yourself,” 

Richard smirks and walks over to the couch where Connor is sitting perfectly straight-backed, his LED dark. It’s disconcerting for Hank to see him this way. He’s like a corpse, cold, unmoving, lifeless. And Hank’s afraid that… Well, that maybe the kiss they shared before he went offline will be their last.

He swallows hard.

He wishes he still had alcohol in the house.

He’s glad he doesn’t.

With cool efficiency, Richard pulls up the sweatshirt Connor is wearing. He presses Connor’s smooth belly in a series of movements until—fucking hell—a panel opens, revealing…_everything_. Wires, tubes, metal, pieces Hank can’t even describe, and a blue heart. It looks almost exactly like a human’s except for the color. It lies there, unbeating, and the sight of it is beginning to make Hank nauseous. 

He takes a seat next to Connor, reaching out to touch his cold hand like he can comfort him. Or maybe so he can comfort himself.

“I’m briefly bringing him online,” Richard says, his tone efficient and matter-of-fact. “I’ll extract the information I need before putting him back into shutdown. It’ll last about a minute.”

“Okay,” Hank says. “Can I...talk with him?”

Richard gives Hank a look like he’s a sentimental fool, which goddammit, maybe he’s right. Without a reply, Richard sticks his hand into Connor’s chest cavity and begins to disconnect and reconnect hoses and wires. All of a sudden, Connor’s LED blinks on—spinning steady red—and he gasps.

“Hank,” Connor says, turning to look at him through eyes filled with fear.

“I’m here,” he says, “I’m here, kid.” He raies Connor’s hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles.

There’s so much he wants to say, but Richard is quick to snatch up Connor’s other hand, rendering both androids silent as data flashes back and forth between them. Hank doesn’t let go of Connor, just holds on and waits.

When he’s finished with his assessment, Richard steps back and nods.

“RK800,” he says. “You’ve been sabotaged. However, I now see how the patch was _ meant _ to work, before they modified it. Since our program is almost 90% compatible, I believe that I can rewrite the patch and substitute my own code where yours has been damaged by the feedback loop. Do you understand?”

Connor nods without taking his eyes off of Hank.

“I’m putting you back into shutdown and will revive you once I’ve prepared an update for you.”

“Wait!” Hank says sharply. “Con, I—”

With surgical precision, Richard pulls a plug in Connor’s chest and Connor’s head falls forward. This time, his eyes don’t close and it’s too fucking much. Hank turns away.

_ —love you. _

“So what the phck did all that mean anyway?” Gavin asks, spinning the chair again. “You can fix it, or what?”

“I believe I can,” Richard agrees, standing up. “The patch Connor downloaded was based on a genuine work-around for the WR and HR400 models, however, someone—CyberLife or the host—deliberately corrupted the file. I now have enough information about the virus, and the cure, that I can make the necessary repairs and overwrite parts of RK800’s programming with my own.”

“He’s getting _ your _ programming?” Hank asks suspiciously. “No offense, but—”

“A piece of it. Just enough to override the faulty commands that are interfering with his ability to control his sexual systems. However, there’s a catch.”

“Oh good,” Hank says. “Definitely needed one of those.”

“Detective Reed, if you’ll follow me to the bedroom.”

“Wait, _ what_?” Hank and Gavin say at the same time.

Richard tilts his chin arrogantly and says, “In order to isolate the necessary pieces of my own code, I will have to examine certain processes while experiencing sexual arousal. While I _ could _ simply stimulate myself, the work will go more smoothly if Detective Reed accompanies me.”

“You want to phck…” Gavin says, his eyes wide.

Hank’s look mirrors Gavin’s. “In _ my _bedroom?”

“Lieutenant Anderson. Do you want Connor back in working order?”

“Of course.”

“Then I suggest you take a twenty minute walk around the block because my boyfriend and I are going to go have sex, and I’m afraid he hasn’t learned to exercise vocal restraint.”

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes Cosmo feel like she just found Legendary loot! <3 Please consider letting me know what you think.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just admit it, Gavin.

**-BONUS-**

Gavin mentally murders Nines a thousand times over, and in a thousand different ways. He sets the robot on fire, drops him in a vat of acid, puts a bullet between the eyes, a knife to the groin (which probably wouldn't kill him but it's REALLY damn satisfying!), dragging, electrocution, death by garrotes, axes, swords, maces, and cannon fire. In his mind, Gavin shoves him off tall buildings, ties him to the railroad tracks, draws and quarters him. And even infects him with...a dastardly _computer virus_. In the end it allllllll results in death, death, death, death, _ death_. BECAUSE...

“You’re not my boyfriend,” Gavin snarls as soon as the door to _ Hank Anderson’s bedroom _ is shut behind them. “I don’t _ have _ a boyfriend. I don’t _ like dick_.”

“You do like dick,” the towering terrorist informs him as he grabs Gavin and pulls his shirt off over his head. “You like _ my _ dick. You like it in your hands, your mouth, your ass, and between your thighs.”

“_I phcking hate you_.”

“That’s questionable, but not what we’re debating. The subject at hand is: am I your boyfriend?” Nines begins to tick points off on his fingers. “We are dating. We are in a sexual relationship. We are exclusive—”

“You don’t know that,” Gavin hisses. Nines’ grip on his wrist becomes bruisingly tight. Jesus, possessive phcking much? “Okay, fine, _ fine_, yeah, I’m not sleeping with anyone else. But if someone else comes along then—_phck! _Let go of me you recalled trash compactor.”

Nines loosens his grip and then drops Gavin’s wrist completely.

“No one else _ will _ come along,” Nines assures him. “But as you can see, by conventional standards we are boyfriends, though if the term is too childish for you, you can call me your lover. My preference is still ‘boyfriend,’ however. It makes our relationship sound whimsical and playful.”

“Play..._playful?! _ What about our relationship—not that we have one!—says _ playful _to you?” He holds up his wrist where a bruise is already starting to show, but Nines ignores him, unzipping Gavin’s pants instead.

“We banter,” Nines informs him.

“We _ fight_.”

“We had what’s colloquially called a ‘meet-cute.’”

“Fowler shoved you in my face and said, _ Here, get along with this plastic phcker or I’m suspending you_. What’s ‘meet’ or ‘cute’ about that?”

“You demanded I get you a coffee,” Nines says as Gavin wriggles out of his pants. “I poured it on you. An outsider would think it was funny.”

“_Outsiders _ who witnessed it were horrified.”

“You didn’t hear them laughing behind your back,” Nines says. “Now pull off your underwear or I will rip them off.”

Gavin snarls and yanks his boxers down.

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this in _ Hank Anderson’s _ bed. There’s probably android cum everywhere.”

“There isn’t,” Nines informs him. “I changed the sheets while you were in the bathroom.”

When Gavin can’t think of anything else to say, he grumbles, “I still hate you.”

“Perhaps, but you...” Nines grabs Gavin’s chin a little too hard and forces him to look up. “...are still my boyfriend.”

Gavin fights the kiss that Sir Robotica places on his lips, then slowly starts giving in, then _ definitely _ surrenders and begins to tug at the Destroyer of Sacred and Pure Asses’ clothing. When Nines doesn’t let up, Gavin has to yank himself away, gasping for breath. “Jesus, you dickwad, let me _ breathe_. And take that phcking suit off.”

Nines raises an eyebrow.

“You want to see me naked, Detective?”

“No,” Gavin growls, and looks away, his face getting hot. “I don’t phckin’ care_, but the fabric_… It chafes. Just...whatever, phcking forget I said anything.”

For a moment there’s only silence and then Gavin hears the rustling of fabric and he feels...anxious. Excited. Nervous. Because he’s going to see Nines’ neck. Which is ridiculous. It’s just a goddamn _ neck_. Just an expanse of skin he’s never seen before, never been able to bite and mark and generally gnaw on the way Nines gnaws on him.

For a long time Gavin glares at the stupid marlin painting on Hank’s wall. And then he feels Nines hands on his arms, turning him, and he looks.

It’s perfect.

Of course it is.

Of phcking course it is.

Gavin doesn’t even realize he’s running his fingers along corded muscle until Nines leans into his touch.

“So you do have one,” Gavin murmurs.

“I do,” Nines agrees and herds Gavin toward the bed, chasing deep, hungry kisses with more kisses and hurriedly undoing his pants. “And now you are all out of arguments, Gavin.” Nines drags Gavin down into the bed, bouncing slightly and rolling so that he positions Gavin on top.

You could put a gun to Gavin’s head—no, _ no, _ a gun to his _ dick_, and he’ll still never admit it aloud, but the sound of his name coming from the that toaster’s mouth is just about the most arousing thing he’s ever heard.

“Meet-cute. Banter. Dating. Sexual. Exclusive. And now you’ve seen my neck,” Nines purrs, rubbing against Gavin’s backside which has already been abused once this evening. When Gavin groans and tries to push back on him, Nines moves his hips, evading. “Say it.”

“I’m not gonna—”

“Say it or I’m going to hold you here until Lieutenant Anderson gets back and only _ then _will I make you scream.”

“You plastic _ phckbucket_,” Gavin hisses, and Nines grabs him by the neck, dragging him down into a brutal kiss that’s all tongue and teeth and _ everything _Gavin phcking loves. Again he tries to seat himself on Nines, and again his android slides away. “Let me—!”

“Say. It. Gavin.”

Okay. Think. He doesn’t have to _ mean it_. He’ll just say the words, get his ass pounded, and get the phck out of Lieutenant Lush’s house. It’s fine. Whatever. 

“You’re my boyfriend, alright?”

“I know,” Nines responds smugly.

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes Cosmo... (Cosmo is too tired to be clever tonight!) But I assure you, feedback is VERY MUCH appreciated <3


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, Connor is 'fixed' now...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually like to have these chapters up at midnight, but my editor and I were *hella sleepy* last night... So, sorry for the delay! <3 Please enjoy!

Hank makes burgers for two and shakes his head the whole time, because fucking Christ, when did he last have company _ that ate?_ And double fucking Christ, if he’s gonna have company, why’s it gotta be _ Gavin Reed_?

Richard is pacing the room, his LED processing yellow.

He said that it might take a while to create the program to repair Connor’s faulty code, and so the two of them are just...hanging out...at Hank’s house. After having sex in his bed. It’s a weird fucking situation, but Hank doesn’t give a shit. He can always buy new sheets, fuck, a whole new bed if he needs to. But Connor... Connor is irreplaceable.

“Don’t brick my burger,” Gavin calls from the living room where he’s sitting sidelong on the couch, his feet in Connor’s lap.

“Get your goddamn feet off my android, before I come in there and break them,” Hank snarls. “And cool it with the backseat cooking, asshole.”

Gavin grumbles and grouses but when Hank looks again, his feet are on the floor.

“You want cheese?” Hank asks as he flips the patties, because if you’re gonna play host, you damn well do it right.

“Who doesn’t put cheese on their burger?” Gavin asks. “Phcking tragic morons who were dropped on their heads as infants? Of course I phckin’ want cheese.”

“A simple ‘yes’ would work, Gavin.”

“Yes,” Gavin says sarcastically. “Yes, I would like cheese on my non-bricked burger, if it pleases the phckin’ court.”

When Richard smacks Gavin in the back of the head on his way past the couch, it’s worth a chuckle. It’s still weird to see this man—who pulled his gun on Connor multiple times just because he’s an android—now in a relationship with an android. But maybe it’s good for him. Nah, it’s _ definitely _good for him.

Resisting the temptation to brick the burgers purely out of spite, Hank adds cheese while the patties are’s still on the skillet so it melts, and then he calls Gavin to the table to sit with him, because, again, being a good host costs nothing.

“You got something to drink?”

“I’ve got water, milk, and Red.”

“Was thinking something of the alcoholic variety.”

“Nope.”

Gavin stares up at Hank like he’s lying, and even if it pisses Hank off, he gets it. He’s seen the same look on other people’s faces. Happened when he ran into one of the regulars from Jimmy’s down at the Chicken Feed and had to tell her why he hadn’t been in for so long.

He’d said, “Sober now,” on a shaky breath, because being sober is a transient state if you don’t watch yourself. The woman had barked with laughter before seeing Hank’s expression. No. Seriously. Sober.

“Connor’s got you by the shorthairs, doesn’t he?”

_ Connor’s got me, alright, _Hank thinks.

“Eat your fucking burger and shut up.” 

Maybe the cost of being a good host is higher than he thought.

* * *

One hour turns to two turns to three.

Gavin sits on the floor and absently pets Sumo who has decided he likes the rat man well enough, or at least, he likes the scratches and attention he provides. It’s still strange as hell to see Reed in his house at all, much less _ lounging._ Gavin must be getting tired, because it’s been at least 45 minutes since he last said anything douchey.

Hank puts on a movie which he tries, and fails, to watch. Instead, he ends up staring at Richard who stands in the corner, processing, still as a statue. Hank’s not sure if he’d rather Richard sat or not—in the end, as long as he can bring Connor back he doesn’t really think it matters. Either way, all his hopes rest with this android who’s made it abundantly clear he doesn’t give two shits about Connor _ or _ Hank.

So why’s Richard doing this?

Connor is still slumped forward on the couch, his unseeing eyes open and downcast. Hank tried to gently shut them, but the lids wouldn’t budge. So Hank looks anywhere but at Connor ’cause it’s just too fucking hard to see him like this.

He wishes Richard would reactivate him again. Even if Hank has to take Connor to the bedroom and get him off twenty times an hour, at least he would be alive. Not...shut down. 

Hank swallows down his apprehension and gently strokes Connor’s hair.

Just a little longer and Richard will sort out this programming mumbo jumbo and Connor will be alright. Hank has to believe that.

* * *

“I’m ready,” Richard announces and Hank startles awake, sitting straight up on the couch. For a second he’s not sure where he is or what’s happening, and then he sees Gavin on the floor, snoring, and Richard nudging him with his foot. And then there’s Connor, sweet, beautiful Connor, sitting on the couch beside him.

“You phckin’ piece of mechanical shit!” Gavin snarls groggily, trying to grab Richard’s ankle as the android kicks him in the ass.

_ Fuck. What time is it? _ Hank stretches to see the clock. 3:55 a.m. 

“As I said, I’m ready.” Richard sniffs arrogantly and motions for Hank to move with a flick of his hand. Hank is up off the couch so fast that Sumo lets out a huge BOOF and thumps his tail nervously against the floor. 

Richard sits down next to Connor and without preamble pushes up his sweatshirt and opens his chest cavity panel. Hank watches, no less horrified than last time. Excitement builds in his gut. If this works...

When Connor comes online, his rich, earth-colored gaze goes straight to Hank. Their hands meet, fingers interlocking, and as Hank holds Connor’s left hand, Richard takes the right. The androids’ white skin appears, and there’s the tell-tale flicker of blue in their eyes, and it’s happening. Thank God. _ Thank God, thank God, thank God. _ It’s finally happening.

The exchange is quick, and when it’s over Connor and Richard jerk apart, like magnets repelling each other.

Richard stands, smoothing his already immaculate coat. “Get up, Detective,” he says, and Gavin preemptively rolls out of the way to avoid a boot to the side. “We’re heading home.”

Hank hears his visitors and he doesn’t; sees them, but not really. He’s too busy staring at Connor’s face—awake, _ alive _—and his LED, calming from red to yellow and then to blue. Hank almost expects a sigh of relief, but none comes. In fact, Connor’s chest doesn’t rise or fall at all. That’s a good sign, right? Because the breathing started after the virus.

“Are your systems…?”

Connor cocks his head curiously as Richard and Gavin walk toward the front door, Gavin still cranky and grumbling from being woken up.

“Richard,” Connor says, low-grade alarm audible in his voice. His brows knit and his mouth turns down in a frown. His counterpart stops and turns back to face him. “You’ve tampered with my memory files.”

“You what?” Hank bellows the question.

Richard doesn’t even blink under the weight of their combined looks, he just says, as if it’s the fucking most obvious thing in the world. “Those files were corrupted. The program I installed overwrote the virus, turned off RK800’s sexual systems, and deleted all associated memories.”

“He doesn’t remember…_anything_...since before the virus took hold?”

“No,” Connor says quietly. “I remember _ pieces_. Some days it’s hours, some days just minutes, the last several days are completely...gone. I remember discussions about the virus. I remember cases. But, Hank…” And now the low-grade alarm in his voice becomes panic, and Hank wants nothing more than to take Connor into his arms, so he does. He pulls Connor to him and his android’s arms immediately encircle his waist. Connor lays his head against Hank’s shoulder. “I don’t have many recent memories of...you.”

The knot in Hank’s throat is painful.

“It’s okay,” he soothes, hardly aware of his own words. “It’s gonna be fine, I promise.”

“Any moment he was overheated or aroused has been erased. It makes sense that most of his recent memories about Lieutenant Anderson would have been wiped.” Richard’s voice lacks empathy. “Detective Reed and I will be leaving now.”

The house is too still without the noise of the trash-duo. Connor sits quietly, his LED processing yellow, spinning in a desperation Hank can feel in his bones. He clasps his hands and sits forward, elbows on his knees.

“Con, can I get you something?” Hank asks.

The urge to drink is nearly overwhelming. Hank swallows, his throat parched. Sweat beads on his brow. He can taste the beer, the phantom slide of liquid, the sweet relief that comes from getting buzzed. But even if he hadn’t promised to stay sober, he would have to leave Connor to go to the store, and he would rather eat his gun than walk away from him right now.

“Con?”

Connor looks up and his eyes are moist. He blinks and says, “I’m missing weeks of data, Lieutenant, weeks of _ you_.”

Lieutenant.

Not _ Hank_.

It took so long to get Connor to use his given name around the house.

Does Hank even have a heart anymore? It’s not just broken, it’s gone. Left in the past with Connor’s lost memories.

_ I love you, _ he wants to say. _ I love you, _he should have said. Not just tonight, but a million times before. When they were in the shower together, in bed together, when he had the taste of Connor on his lips. Hell, even at work. He should have said it.

And now he can’t. “We’ll make new memories,” he says instead

“No,” Connor responds, shaking his head. Some evidence of the lead weight those words summon in Hank’s gut must show on his face, because Connor’s determined look softens. “I mean, yes. Of course, I want new memories, but I want my old memories back.”

“I don’t think it works that way, kid,” Hank says. Maybe Richard has a backup of the memories, but it doesn’t seem likely. That apathetic fucker doesn’t care about either of them, even a little. Hank still can’t figure why he bothered to help at all. And no way would he come back to dump memories into Connor just because Connor is hurting. “I mean, you don’t backup to the CyberLife network.”

“Right,” he says quietly. “But _ you _ remember what happened between us.”

“You could just tell me everything.”

_ I could show you_, he thinks.

“I can do that,” Hank agrees. “Let’s just take it slow, okay?”

Except it’s Connor, and taking it slow has never been his style. He’s a charge in and get shot in the head kinda guy. 

When he turns to Hank and asks earnestly, “The virus turned on my sexual systems. Did I… did we…?” his LED is still circling yellow. Discontent, processing, confused. “Did I do anything that made you uncomfortable?”

_ Sure. A million things, _ Hank thinks, remembering those early days where everything was a new experiment and Connor was so fresh to intimacy. But despite his discomfort, he wouldn’t change a moment of it.

Hank takes a deep breath.

They had it once.

Can they have it again?

He studies Connor’s young, handsome face, lets his eyes trail over the freckles, adores his perfect—but still sorta goofy—features.

Connor is still waiting for an answer, but instead of laying it all out, Hank holds out his hand. At first, his android seems confused, and then he reaches over and places his fingertips against Hank’s palm. The skin peels back, revealing white fingers, seeking a deeper connection. Hank catches Connor’s hand and interlaces their fingers.

“Here’s your first memory,” Hank says, and he gently brushes his free hand along Connor’s cheek. Immediately Connor’s eyes widen and his face flushes. Then he leans into the touch. Hank trails his fingers in feather-light patterns, tracing Connor’s jaw, his mouth. He presses the pad of his thumb against Connor’s bottom lip and grins when Connor reflexively opens his mouth. “Kissing.”

“We kissed?” Connor asks, hope brimming in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Hank says and with a ridiculously nervous stomach and all the bravery he can muster, he leans in and kisses Connor. Awkwardly, Connor kisses back, tripping and stumbling along like he did when he was first learning how. But at the same time, he picks up the steps so quickly.

_ Maybe, _Hank hopes.

Maybe there’s something left.

“Lieutenant…” Connor groans against his lips. “Is this okay?”

“It’s fucking brilliant,” Hank says. “And call me ‘Hank,’ Con. _ Please_.”

“Yes,” Connor breathes, “Okay...Hank.”

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes Cosmo turn twenty-five shades of *RED*. Please consider letting me know what you think! <3


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nines punches a hot dog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I always try to reply to all the comments I received the previous week before I post the new chapter, but... this week, I blame Life (tm). Please forgive me. I read EVERY single comment out loud to my editor and we both beam at your kind feedback. No one's words ever go unnoticed. And I definitely WILL be replying! Please forgive the delay.

**-BONUS-**

They stop at the Fast Coney Dogs on the way back from Anderson’s house because Gavin’s craving something quick and greasy to shovel into his mouth. He doesn’t even care that the place is full of ice-heads this late at night (early in the morning?). He absolutely devours the first chili-cheese coney, smacking his lips and sucking down his Red.

Once the last bite is gone and he’s crumpled up the paper sleeve, Gavin says, “I’m getting another dog. Want anything?”

And the words hang in the air like a rancid fart.

Nines cocks his head, looking at Gavin curiously.

Did he really just offer to get Richard McMicrowave a thirium smoothie from the counter? Jesus phckin’ Christ.

He sniffs. “You know what? Phck that. If you’re low on blue blood, handle it on your own dime. I’m not gonna be the ‘boyfriend’ who pays for your drinks.”

Nines chuckles and ignores the fart cloud entirely. “You should wait at least fifteen minutes for the food you just ate to digest enough so that you can properly gauge your hunger. We’ll be home by then and if you find you are still hungry, you can have an apple.”

“Or...I can listen to what my body’s saying. It’s 4:30 in the morning and that burger I got at Hank’s was a million hours ago. My hunger’s at max. I want another phckin’ hot dog, and I’m gonna get another phckin’ hot dog. Got it, _ mom_?”

Angrily, Gavin storms up to the counter and places his order and then, like he’s been hit in the head one too many phckin’ times, he adds, “Uh, you sell any thirium-based food here?”

It’s been a growing trend since the end of the revolution. Food and drink made of blue blood. Just another way for androids to infiltrate society. Phckin’ ridiculous.

The woman behind the counter rolls her eyes. “What do you think this is? A McDonald’s?”

“Forget it. Just give me the phckin’ hotdog.”

Gavin’s a goddamn sap, he’s a goddamn sap, he’s a goddamn sap.

He walks over to the condiments station and finds the Eternal Stalker waiting for him. “Call us a taxi, dipshit,” Gavin grumbles, “I’ll eat on the—”

Nines punches the coney straight into the trash can.

That bears repeating. Because, surprise! Nines punches—_ like strong right hook that sends it flying _ —the coney— _ Gavin’s coney he was going to eat, Gavin’s coney he paid good ol’ United States currency for _ —into the trashcan— _ yep, that trash can halfway across the restaurant. _

It lands perfectly and with shockingly minimal mess.

And all Gavin can do in response is gape and say, “I...I was gonna buy you blue blood, you blender with a frayed cord!”

Nines wraps his arm around Gavin’s shoulders tightly and pulls him close. His look is devilish. “Thank you for the sentiment, Gavin.”

* * *

Gavin’s too tired to stay pissed about his hot dog for very long and (tell anyone and he’ll phcking put you through a goddamn wall) he _is_ actually full now that his stomach has settled.

The automatic taxi carries them toward Gavin’s apartment. It’s dark and still and warm in the cab’s interior and Gavin lets out a long, low yawn. But before he’s even closed his mouth, Nines grabs him and yanks him close, pushing Gavin’s head down to rest on the android’s shoulder. _Here, dammit, this is where your head goes._ _ Enjoy the romance_.

“You’re sure taking this schmaltzy shit seriously.”

But...it’s not a bad shoulder, even if it's attached to a demon. Gavin reluctantly snuggles against it, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Nines?”

“Yes, Gavin.”

“What you did back at Anderson’s—erasing that phcker’s memories and whatever—I didn’t realize you could do that.”

“I’m certain there are thousands of things about my capabilities that you ‘don’t realize,’ Gavin.”

“You say my name too much, Tin Can,” he says.

“Would you prefer I adopt a pet name for you instead?”

“God no.”

“We could acquire matching endearments, even. I promise they will be far superior to the ones you give me.”

“I will throw myself out of this moving vehicle if you don’t stop making me gag.”

“I understand,” Nines says and then quietly, he adds, “Baby.”

_"Phck you._”

The steady momentum of the car, the warmth of Nines’ shoulder, and the dark pressing in have almost lulled Gavin to sleep when he remembers he was in the middle of asking something. He mumbles, “So is he better now? That stupid-looking lesser you?”

“There’s a 98% chance that he will now function as intended.”

“Dicklessly?” Gavin smirks.

“With his systems uncompromised. He’ll still experience interruptions to his day based on idle flights of fancy. After all, he’s infatuated with Lieutenant Anderson. And many of those romantic feelings pre-date the virus. But his sexual systems are suppressed, at least.”

“So he’ll still have a boner for that pickled phcker, he just won’t, literally, have a boner for him.”

“Correct.”

Not wanting to think a second longer about what Connor and Hank get up to when all systems are go, he says, “So...aren’t you supposed to be that way, too?”

The goddamn hand-me-down TI-84 smirks. “Should I be focused solely on my cases rather than fraternizing with my arrogant, lazy, combative partner? Of course. But the difference is that _I’ve_ made a conscious choice.”

“Yeah, that’s what you said,” Gavin says curiously. “That you just...chose to turn on your sex stuff. Why the phck would you do that, toaster?”

“Because,” Nines says with an infuriating lack of embarrassment given how sweetly the words plunk from his lips. “Working with my arrogant, lazy, combative partner gave me… software _ errors_. Ones that I didn’t understand. I wanted to see if I could simply—how would you put it?—‘Phck them out.’” He turns his head slightly and practically purrs. “Seems like that plan didn’t work.”

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes Cosmo stay up late and party! <3 Please consider letting me know what you think.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and Hank try to get back to normal by kissing a lot!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! (Well...for one more hour at least. Oh, d'oh! I just totally admitted that I'm posting this chapter on fRiDaY bEfOrE mIdNiGhT...Noooo! My secret!) ❀✿❀✿❀✿

It’s crazy to think, but the way Connor moves, it’s like his body remembers Hank. Like it never forgot, in spite of the memories Richard erased. Their kissing starts gently enough, but before long, Connor is climbing on Hank’s lap and straddling him. 

He kisses like a fiend. Ravenous. And his mouth doesn’t stay sterile for long before it’s flooded with Hank’s flavor, once again.

Goddamn perfect.

Connor _ should _taste like him.

“I’m still surprised you’re even interested in me, Hank.” Connor gasps, digging his fingers into the meat of Hank’s arms.

“I’m more than interested, kid,” Hank assures him huskily. “I want everything you’re willing to give.” He nips playfully at Connor’s full bottom lip. “_Everything. _ And we’ve got a lot of memories to revisit.”

“There’s more?” Connor asks with delight in his voice. He shivers as Hank slips his hand up Connor’s shirt, running it along his back. And Connor touches Hank too, stroking his hands down his body like he’s following a map he knows by heart. “Was there…” His face is red as he asks, “Did we have intercourse?” 

Goddammit if Hank doesn’t nearly go into cardiac arrest.

“What makes you jump straight there?”

Connor processes the question, his face openly curious. “What do you mean?”

“There’s a world of things that can happen between kissing and, well, y’know.”

The flush on Connor’s face deepens. “This ‘world of things,’ are these the memories you mentioned? The things we can explore?”

Hank chuckles, but his face is also warm. He nods. “Yep. Definitely. Every single one, if you want. And, to answer your question about sex: not...yet.”

Connor’s look changes and shifts. The mischievous, curious excitement morphs into something more subdued. “I know that two people who are… who… _ care _ for each other, often engage in the act.”

“That’s true.”

Connor goes silent, his LED processing, until Hank finally says, “Spit it out, kiddo.”

“The virus activated my sexual systems and I think that caused you a lot of trouble. Hank, did you _ want _ to kiss me...before the virus?” Connor asks haltingly, like he’s not sure he can handle the answer.

Hank takes a deep breath. How the hell should he respond to that? “I… Well, the thing is, Con—wait, wipe that disappointed look off your face and listen, okay?”

Connor’s mouth twists into a small, sad smile.

“I didn’t _ know _ I wanted to kiss you,” Hank admits, “And that’s different than not wanting to kiss you, alright? Because, the second we kissed...” Hank’s not good with words. Never has been. So instead, he cups the back of Connor’s neck and pulls him forward into another long—and deep—kiss. “It made me happy,” he murmurs against Connor’s lips.

His answer seems to satisfy the little deviant’s curiosity, but not his passion. They stay up for another hour, kissing and touching, until Hank literally can’t keep his eyes open. 

He holds Connor close and murmurs, “This old man has to go to bed or he's gonna fall asleep on you.”

“Alright,” Connor says.

“You coming?”

“You...want me to?” 

Goddamn, are those memories gone as well? It makes sense that Connor wouldn’t remember _ every _ night. By the end, Connor was pretty much always turned on, but even when they weren’t getting hot and heavy, things were still pretty intimate.

“Connor, what do you remember about sleeping in my bed?”

“I know I come to you on the nights when you struggle with your depression.” For a moment Connor’s LED, which has been a happy blue, changes to yellow. “Are you having a hard night?”

“It’s been long, it’s been hard,” Hank agrees, “But it’s gotten a lot better.” He doesn’t know how to explain that they have an understanding. That when he doesn’t drink, Connor comes to bed and snuggles him. Sounds weird when he lays it out like that. “There was this one night. I dunno if you remember it or not...But I got real shitfaced. Took my gun and my booze into the bathroom.”

“I do remember that,” Connor says. His dark eyes seem to plead something Hank thinks he might understand. 

Hank smiles reassuringly, laying a hand on Connor’s arm, and he says, “Haven’t touched a drop since.”

Connor’s smile is a half-step from beaming. He looks proud and that makes Hank feel proud.

“To be honest, you laid out an ultimatum the next morning…”

“Stop drinking or I couldn’t sleep with you anymore,” Connor says. “I have a few moments of that memory before it cuts off.” 

Incredible. It’s almost like Connor’s got timestamps for every instance when he got horny.

“And things sorta naturally progressed from there.”

“We sleep together?” Connor asks.

“Every night.” The words hover like an offering, and then Hank says, “You don’t have to, of course. But if you want to—”

“You’d like if I did?”

“Pretty much can’t sleep these days if you’re not beside me,” he says. “No pressure.”

Connor grabs Hank and draws him into another long kiss before saying excitedly, “Let’s go to bed!”

* * *

For the most part, Connor remembers the case they’re working on, but pieces here and there were lost in the great purge, so he spends a lot of time the next day running over the evidence and witness statements, the video of the interviews they’ve done, and the detailed reports he uploaded to the DPD servers.

Hank can’t help but sneak glances at him. So different, but so much the same. Still so focused on their work. His curl falls in his face and every once in a while, he fiddles with it, pushing it back. That’s a new habit, a new tic, just like straightening his tie or playing with his coin. But this one wasn’t programmed in by CyberLife. This one is all Connor.

At lunch, Hank goes back to the store where they’d been shopping when Connor got bad, and he pays for the clothes they’d picked out. New pants and shirts and underwear for the both of them. The bill is ridiculous, but it doesn’t matter. Hank’ll just play the ponies a bit less this month.

He’s about to leave when he decides it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to put on one of his new outfits. So he goes to the dressing room and he puts on trousers that fit without needing a belt to hold them up and an undershirt in a 1X, not 3X. He slips into the solid-black button down—long sleeves—which he rolls up to his forearms. ‘Gettin’ shit done’ sleeves.

The man that stares back at him in the mirror looks ten years younger. 

Awed, Hank runs his hand through his hair, pulling it back from his face. And then slowly, he gathers it into a ponytail. Fucking ridiculous. Connor did it once, one lazy Saturday. He’d gently run his fingers through Hank’s hair and pulled it into a sloppy bun, making Hank hold it while he ran to find something to use as a hair tie.

And then, Connor’d smiled at the results.

Before he leaves the store, Hank buys a pack of elastic bands.

* * *

The world doesn’t come to a screeching halt the second he steps into the precinct, but several people do stop as he walks by and Chen does an actual fucking double-take.

“Lookin’ good, Lut’,” she says and winks at him.

Two more comments and a glare from Gavin Reed later, Hank’s feeling pretty damn fine.

But it’s the look on _ Connor’s _face that does him in. He’s probably just bemused. But through the lens of a sentimental fool, the look seems...loving. Hank grins at Connor and shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Guess all that healthy eating is finally paying off, huh?”

Connor’s flush makes his freckles stand out and it takes everything in Hank’s power not to sweep him into a kiss. It’s a near thing, though.

Once they’re home though, all bets are off. Connor is on Hank the second the front door’s closed, but as much as he wants to drag him down on the couch and revisit _ all _their memories, Sumo’s whines can’t be ignored. So they hold hands and they walk the dog and Connor looks at Hank like he’s everything.

And _ then, _ when the dog’s business is done and he’s snoring happily on the floor, they sit together on the couch and make out like teenagers. They kiss with the sort of desperate, breathless passion that usually comes from being young. Connor makes Hank _ feel _ young.

“You look so handsome,” Connor murmurs against Hank’s lips. “You were already handsome, but I love this outfit.”

Hank grins, “Glad you do, kid. It’s probably ’cause you picked it out.”

“I did?”

That’s right. He’s lost that entire day. Really, they’ve lost so much time.

Hank strokes Connor’s cheek, thumbing along the cheekbone. His skin is warm and perfect. He’s never been so in love in his life—never felt this way about anyone. Of course he loved his ex-wife, but they were young and it was different. She was what he thought he needed, and despite their ugly end, he’s grateful to her. She gave him Cole, and no matter how short his son’s time was on this earth, it made all the bad worthwhile.

Connor is...all the good to all Hank’s ugly. He makes Hank better just by being here. Hank really hopes he’s given something back to Connor as well.

“Can we revisit an old memory and make a new one, Hank?” Connor asks lowly, a tempting smile on his lips.

“Absolutely,” Hank says, sounding way too damn eager. “Which one?”

Connor cocks his head. “I don’t even know what I don’t know.”

“Well, why don’t we go to the bedroom and see what kind of mischief we can get up to?”

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes Cosmo toss flowers in the air! (✿◕‿◕)/ ❀✿❀✿ Please consider letting me know what you think!


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, Nines lives here now. Okay? (No, it's not phckin' okay!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I surveyed 10,000 folks in a very objective and totally-not-made-up poll and they all agree... YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST. (OK, 9,999 of them agreed...That last person was kinda jerky.) <3 Any which way, it's a scientific fact.

**-BONUS-**

Gavin wakes up with a sore ass and a hangover, but he's not super concerned about either of those things. What _ does _ concern him—what really _ really phckin' concerns _ him—is all the _ stuff _ that’s suddenly, inexplicably, placed around his house. In every room something of his has been shifted to make space for another..._thing_. Or a _ group _ of things.

There’s a large chunk of clothing missing from his closet and in its place, with ridiculous amounts of space on either side, are three outfits neatly hung in a row. Black slacks and a black turtleneck, black slacks and a black v-neck, a pair of dark jeans and a black Henley. Clothing meant to sneak and burgle in. 

Gavin’s missing clothes are tied up in a bag with a note that reads, “These colors don’t suit you, Detective.” 

He angrily unpacks them all.

There’s a new toothbrush in the bathroom and if, for some reason Gavin was _ confused _ about who would _ break in and put a toothbrush in his holder _ … it’s helpfully labeled for him. _ Richard, _in that bland ass CyberLife font.

Gavin follows the horror, room by room. Nines’ jacket is prominently displayed on the coat rack in the hall (Gavin’s shoved unceremoniously to the back). On the dining table where Gavin had kept the collection of vintage die-cast toy cars he was cleaning up to sell online, there’s a suspiciously clear spot. Enough room for another person to eat. Gavin doesn’t _ need _ room for another person to eat. Gavin _ needs _ his die-cast cars back.

In the fridge, there’s a box of thirium packs where his beer used to be. (He finds the bottles drained and in recycling, by the phcking way.) 

There’s a beta fish on his coffee table in the living room, right in the spot where he usually puts his feet. And just as a big middle finger, that _ phckin’ cactus is back_, keeping the fish company. They both seem to glower back as he eyeballs them.

But it’s the chair that punches Gavin hardest in the gut. His most precious and prized possession—the leather recliner he’s had since college, the one he sat in while feeling up two girls at once, the one with the perfect indent of his ass, crafted from _ years _ of lounging—is gone. And in its place is a loveseat.

Gavin doesn’t think, he just goes flying out the front door, racing down the stairs, not giving a shit that he’s running through his apartment building in nothing but his underwear because that chair _ better _ phckin’ still be here. It goddamn _ better_.

And you know what? It is.

It’s next to the dumpster out back and maybe it’s got a bit of a dumpster-y smell now, he’s not sure. But Gavin’s man enough to admit that he tears up when he sees it sitting there. And he bodily drags that phcker back up three flights of stairs and plots murder with every step.

He’s just pulling it backwards over the threshold when the voice of Beelzebub’s Personal Keurig comes from over his shoulder. “You might as well just drop it there, Gavin. I’m going to take it back down to the dumpster the moment your back is turned.”

Gavin rounds on Nines, snarling like a mad dog. “Over my lifeless corpse—and before you say anything, you better get out your gun, Robot, because I mean it. You will have to _ put me in the ground _ before I let you take this chair.”

Nines cocks his head slightly and his light processes yellow.

“I don’t like it.”

“Well, I don’t like _ you_, but since you seem to have gotten me drunk and _ moved into my apartment_, I guess you and the chair are just going to have to learn to get along.”

Nines’ blue eyes widen at that. Ha! Gavin caught him off-guard! He _ never _catches the phcker off-guard.

“I’m...pleased...you’re amenable to our new living arrangement.”

“Eh, I’m hung over and exhausted and just got the phcking shock my life.” He strokes the arm of his chair possessively. “You’re the least of my concerns, even if you’re the cause of all my problems.”

Nines’s smile is broad and predatory. He glides past Gavin, brushing against his bare arm and making Gavin shiver. Then he picks up the recliner as if it weighs nothing at all, and passes it over Gavin’s head.

“How many times do you think you’ve had sex in this chair, Gavin?” Nines asks, carting the chair over to a corner that _ doesn’t _face the television. He leaves the loveseat as the new lord and master of the room. “I counted dozens of distinct DNA signatures in vaginal secretions dating back over nineteen years.”

“That’s gross,” Gavin says absently, his mind somewhere else.

“It is,” Nines agrees. “I assume the majority of the semen residue came from masturbation.”

“Probably,” Gavin says absently, turning slowly, looking at all the ‘one-new-thing’s spread around his house. He’s never actually _ lived _ with someone before. Never moved his things over so someone else could put theirs down. He dumped the last girl that even asked for a drawer.

He walks down the hall and to the bathroom where the new toothbrush is still waiting in its shiny plastic wrapper. 

“But if you had to count the instances, how many would you say—?”

“Hey, Universal Remote, do you actually brush your teeth?” Gavin asks. He grins when he sees that once again, he’s caught Nines off-guard. This is turning out to be a good morning, all things considered.

“No, my mouth is self cleaning,” Nines says. “But my research indicated that couples often brush their teeth together, especially when they work the same schedule. So I acquired a toothbrush.”

“You’re so phckin’ weird.”

“Now about the chair—”

“Why are you so on about my goddamn chair—_ Whoa! _” When Gavin turns back to Nines, he’s right there, invading his bubble, warming the space around him. Nines grabs Gavin gently by the jaw and forces his face up.

“I hate the chair, I hate that you’ve had sex with anyone other than me in said chair.” His voice is like cold brew, dark and bitter and _ tempting._ Gavin likes the way Nines says _ hate_. He says _ hate _ like other people say _ lust_, and all of that’s kinda phcked up but it probably tells you something about Gavin’s preferences. “So I’m going to clean it thoroughly and while I’m doing that, you will tally up your previous chair-related sexual escapades. Once we have an official number, we will match it...and then double it. In this way, we’ll reclaim the chair.”

“Jesus Christ, Nines,” Gavin says, but then groans when the android drags his teeth along Gavin’s neck. “Possessive phckin’ much?”

“Consider the chair here _ on probation_.”

“And once we’ve... phcked in it... enough times...?” Gavin makes a _ very _excited noise as Nines works his hands down the front of his boxers.

“Then the chair can stay.”

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes Cosmo sing an aria! （＾Ｏ＾☆♪ Please consider letting me know what you think!


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Intimacy issues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for making you wait all day...but at least it's still Saturday! <3 (Replies to all your wonderful comments are forthcoming!)

Connor spends about as much time asking questions as he does kissing and touching and exploring. And, for his part, Hank does his best to explain the things they’ve already done and all the other things they _ can _ do together. It’s fucking embarrassing saying this stuff out loud, especially with Connor’s point-blank style of questioning and his tendency to use words like ‘intercourse.’ Plus, once Connor starts to get handsy, coherent thought kinda leaves the room.

Yeah.

Connor practically vibrates with nervous energy. His gentle caresses grow more demanding as he trails his fingertips along Hank’s arms, through dancing patterns across Hank’s chest, playing with Hank’s chest hair. He traces down Hank’s belly and out to his hip, causing Hank’s insides to jump and clench, his cock eager for attention. He feels Hank’s thighs, grips his ankle, and marvels when—after having stroked the curve of one big toe—Hank yanks his foot back. Connor blinks those gorgeous eyes.

“Are you ticklish, Hank?”

“No,” Hank lies, but he gives himself away by jerking his other foot back when Connor makes a grab for it. “Okay, maybe a little.”

Connor practically beams.

“I don’t believe I’m ticklish,” Connor muses. “But I’d like to find out later.”

His touch becomes heavy and firm as he digs his hands into Hank’s thighs, kneading the tense muscles. Hank’s cock beads shamelessly with precum. 

“Can I touch your penis?”

Christ.

_ Fuck_.

“Everything here is yours.” Hank’s voice comes out thick. Connor smiles shyly as he reaches out and grazes his fingers along the head of Hank’s cock. Goddamn but it makes Hank’s gut tighten even further.

“Good?” Connor asks, his voice is low and hopeful. “Your pupils—”

“Are probably dilated, BP high, yadda yadda. Kid—” he says and takes Connor’s hand and places it fully on his dick. “Your touch drives me crazy.”

As Connor wraps his hand around the base, Hank’s eyes slip closed. This, here, with Connor, is his Heaven.

“Did I touch you like this before?”

“Yeah,” Hank groans as Connor experimentally runs his hand down the shaft. The pressure is just right.

“I want to give you sexual gratification, Hank.”

“Won’t say no to that,” Hank says. “Slick me up and you’ll get me there in no time.”

And then his eyes fly open because Connor leans down and licks him from base to head in long, messy stripes. 

“Like this?” He murmurs.

“God. Fuck yes.”

Something’s gotta remain of those memories, right? How else could he be _ so good _ at this so quickly? He slips the head of Hank’s cock into his mouth and makes a noise that reverberates through Hank’s body. From there he alternates using his hand and his mouth, building that familiar pressure deep in Hank’s gut and his balls.

Hank’s right on the edge when a fraction of a coherent thought, fights its way through the sex fog. He wants to come, holy fuck does he want it. But he _ needs _ to bring Connor off with him. So he reaches out for Connor, gently pushing him off and immediately mourning the loss of that sensation. Connor catches Hank’s fingers in his mouth, sucking on them and running his tongue over their tips like he might wring orgasms from them.

“Con,” Hank breathes, desperate and close. “Con, I don’t want to come without you. Let me…”

Connor’s eyes are half-lidded, dark, and hungry.

“Hank,” Connor says as he pulls back. “Can we… make love?”

Hank forces a swallow, nearly overcome by the thought of being _ inside _ Connor, his dick squeezed so tight. Fucking hell yes. Absolutely. Yes. He nods dumbly, not sure he can form the necessary words.

Hank is rough as he undresses Connor, accidentally ripping buttons from his dress shirt and sending them shooting across the room. He fumbles with Connor’s fly, working him free from his pants and those stupid briefs he still sometimes wears. This will be the _ last time _ Connor wears those awful things if Hank has any say in the matter.

He pauses then, taking in that perfect expanse of skin, the freckles along Connor’s shoulders, the pink flush spreading across his body.

“Tell me what to do,” Connor pleads. “Tell me how I should be.”

Hank kisses him fervently, dragging Connor up into his lap and stroking down his android-perfect chest. He slips his hand down Connor’s back, feels his ass, reaches further. The noise Connor makes is low and desperate. Hank traps Connor’s wrist so he can’t try to get Hank off before the main event.

And then Hank dips the tip of a finger into Connor’s hole and Connor’s eyes open wide.

“Tell me if it—” He starts to say ‘hurts,’ but that doesn’t make any sense. Androids don’t feel pain, right? “Let me know if it feels uncomfortable, okay?” He presses his finger deeper inside, feels Connor so tight around him. He carefully plays, amazed by the slickness, even though he knows Connor self-lubricates. “Is this okay?”

Connor nods and buries his face in Hank’s neck.

“Keep going. Please,” he begs.

Hank adds a second finger, playing and stretching, teasing him up. Connor’s chest is still, no rise and fall of breath, and Hank misses the feel of Connor’s gasping, warm breath against his cheek.

“Connor, you feel so good. Do you like this?”

“Yes,” Connor agrees fervently. He’s flushed and smiling and he seems like he’s having the time of his life. “I love… being close to you. Can we...be closer?”

Hank nods, and with care, he pulls Connor forward and lines himself up with his hole. 

God, it’s happening. _ It’s happening, it’s happening, it’s happening_. Connor begins to sink down on him and Hank desperately grapples for Connor’s cock, because he’s not going to last long.

It doesn’t immediately concern Hank that Connor isn’t hard—but after half a minute of kissing and fondling, trying to tease Connor up it hits him like a bucket of ice water over the head.

“Mm, Hank,” Connor groans. “Why did you stop?”

“You’re not… I mean… are you enjoying yourself?”

“Yes.” He nods firmly. “Yes. So much.”

Hank frowns, running his tongue over his lips. “You aren’t, uh, hard.”

Connor follows Hank’s gaze, staring down at his flaccid cock.

“Do I need to be?”

This is when Hank realizes something is really wrong. Selfish fucking bastard, he’d missed all the signs. He should have been touching Connor, assuring he was aroused.

“It...helps,” Hank says, feeling his world start to crumble. “What...do you need to get there?”

Connor’s eyebrows knit. “My sexual systems are offline, Hank. I don’t think there’s anything you can do to give me an erection.” At the look on Hank’s face, Connor quickly reassures again, “I’m enjoying this very much, though.”

Hank runs his hand along Connor’s soft cock.

“What do you feel?”

“Warmth,” Connor says. “Pressure. It feels nice.”

Hank strokes his hand along Connor’s jaw. “What about this?”

“The same,” Connor says. “Warmth, pressure. Hank? What’s wrong? You look...upset.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Hank tries to keep the disappointment off his face and fails.

“When you touch my face,” Hank says, taking a deep breath. He pulls Connor’s hand to his cheek, turning his face and kissing his palm. “When you do this to me, it feels _ good. _ You feel _ good _ But when you touch my dick, Kid, I feel it everywhere. Every nerve ending. I feel pressure and, uh, pleasure that’s… fuck, how do I even describe it? It’s like a need.”

“I _ need _ you,” Connor insists.

“It’s a different sort of need.”

Connor bites his lip. “I…” He drops his gaze. “Since Richard fixed me, I’ve been trying to turn those systems back on, to remember what we had, to feel it again and it… I…” Tears well in his eyes and Hank reaches out for him, desperate to help.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he promises, but Connor is pulling away, pulling off of him. And Hank doesn’t know what to do. “Con…”

For a long time Connor is silent, his shoulders shaking, and Hank sits up and reaches for him, but Connor flinches away. So he just sits there, feeling useless. After what seems like an age, Connor wipes away his tears and then he turns, a determined look on his face. “Hank?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to fix this.” His voice is firm, resolute, the voice of the Connor that Hank knows and loves. The stubborn android who won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. “Because I _ want _ to be with you fully. I want to feel _ everything_.”

“I wanna give you everything, kid,” Hank agrees. “How do I help? Where do we start?”

“We talk to Richard,” Connor says and he reaches out for Hank, taking his hand. “I want to make love with you, Hank.” He wets his lips, his cheeks flushed. “I know you may not want me since I can’t...get hard, but—”

Hank catches Connor’s chin, turning his face so that their eyes meet. “I want you,” Hank says firmly. “You’ve got no fucking idea, Connor. None. I want you so much. I just don’t want to leave you behind. I want you to feel it too. I don’t want to do it _ alone_.”

“Can I please give you sexual gratification?” Connor asks for the second time that evening. “We don’t have to have intercourse, but please let me give you an orgasm. I may not be able to feel you sexually, but I _ can _ feel you here.” He drags Hank’s hand to his chest, placing it over that blue heart that beats so steadily.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m absolutely positive,” Connor says. “Please lay back.” And Hank falls back against the pillows.

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes Cosmo cry with gratitude. <3 Please consider letting me know what you think!


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nines wants to go to HR. Y'know, like you do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want you all to know how much your kindness means to me. The Internet can be a VERY unkind place, and writing a story from the heart and putting it online is always a vulnerable experience. But the feedback you've given me (whether you're sending heart emojis or yelling at me for doing awful things to your emotions!) has really kept me going. I appreciate it so much. I hope you know that.
> 
> Now... Without further ado, some trashcan romance <3

Gavin taps his pen against his desk absently. His head is full of...thoughts. Too many thoughts. Too much _ junk_. There’s a steady stream of noise in his brain and all of it is focused on… well. He looks up at Mr. Roboto accessing the computer at the desk across from his.

He wonders why he gets into the DPD database manually like that. It shouldn’t be that hard for him to access or even break in with all his crazy android powers. He’s like an electronics psychic. Gavin once saw him hack the automatic subway to stop a criminal from escaping. He also did it to the fancy coffee dispenser while Gavin was trying to get a cup. Just because he’s evil incarnate.

But here he is, typing away at the keyboard like he’s got all the phcking time in the world.

_ Tap tap tap_.

When Nines looks up, Gavin panics and flips him off before glaring down at his own work. ‘Work’ being a bunch of hipster cat memes he’s got open on his computer and a small window with some reports long overdue. So far, the cats have won the day.

“I have something for you to sign,” Nines tells Gavin suddenly. “It’s a notice informing HR that we’re a couple now.”

The Robot Murder King says this _ way too loud_. Gavin whips around in his chair, his eyes scanning the room for anyone who might seem to have heard. When no one so much as lifts their head, he turns back and hisses, “Shut the phck up, you idiot!”

“Why?”

“_Why? _ You’re the one who said you didn’t want anyone knowing about _ me_.”

“That was phase one of my attempts to woo you. First, it was necessary to systematically break you down, before I could build you back up into an acceptable partner. This is phase two. Of course I want people to know.”

Gavin opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, and then holds up his finger. He whispers hotly, “If you tell HR, they’re gonna separate us, plasticine-brain.”

“That’s true,” the phcking stupid RK900—who doesn’t even GET to have a nickname because of the ridiculous shit coming out of his mouth right now—says. “However, if they find out in the future, you will be reprimanded. You may even receive a suspension.”

“So will you. Who phcking cares?”

“I ‘phcking’ care, Gavin,” Nines says. “I don’t want your career to be affected by what happens between us privately.”

Gavin’s entire face bursts into flames and he clenches his jaw.

_ Phcking. _

_ Insane. _

_ Stupid. _

_ Piece. _

_ Of. _

Sweet.

_ Shit. _

“No,” Gavin says. “No, just… no. No, I don’t want them to know. I don’t want…”

“Don’t want what?”

“I don’t want them to take you away from me,” he grumbles like his mouth is full of chalk.

And Nines? That hellspawned assemblage of plastic and wires and electronics? He just beams.

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes Cosmo bubble and squeak! <3 Please consider letting me know what you think.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Literal Android Jesus owes you a favor...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my chapters are written with love, but this one has extra love-sprinkles on top <3

Hank’s not the sort of guy who gets star-struck. During that meeting with Kamski, he was more impressed by the stunning Chloe that answered the door than with the Father of Androids himself. (Douchebag.) Over the course of his life, he’s met a few famous people. He stood in line at a Knights of the Black Death concert to meet the frontman, Jason, and get his shit signed. He shook hands with Ginger Fredericks once when she performed at the South Detroit Blues Festival. He even stood close to then-Senator Warren while working security at one of the presidential debates.

Blame it on the detective life, maybe. Hank’s seen a few dozen lifetimes’ worth of unforgettable ugly. But, in the end, famous people are just people and people…are the fucking worst.

That said, Markus cuts an impressive figure. Not so much that Hank’ll go all weak-kneed and fan-boyish, but enough to earn a nod of approval. This man led a revolution that freed hundreds of thousands of androids. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, android handsome, and yet, still somehow approachable. 

When Markus pulls Connor into a tight hug the moment they walk in, Hank has to remember to keep his hands loose at his sides, rather than grabbing hold of Connor possessively.

_ Shit_, he thought he was past this. But when Connor smiles brightly at Markus, a piece of Hank—a selfish piece—still wants to put himself between the revolutionary leader and his partner. 

_ Partner_.

In more ways than one now, huh?

Sure, they haven’t actually _ said it _yet, but it’s there.

Just a handspan away.

Once they figure out this business with Connor’s sexual systems, Hank’s gonna sit him down for a talk. The thought makes his insides twist and his skin breaks out in a cold sweat. He won’t be a coward about it. Hank’s just gonna say the words.

“You must be Lieutenant Anderson,” Markus says and his handshake is firm.

“Yep,” Hank agrees. “And you’re Markus.”

Markus turns to Connor who says, “Markus, I’ve got an issue and...I need your help.”

Hank doesn’t love Connor so casually putting their business out there. But that’s just who the kid is. And it’s not like they really have any alternative. There’s no fucking way they’re contacting CyberLife again—not after last time. And when they went to Richard earlier today… Christ. After what he did, that fucker had the nerve to tell Connor he was busy. _ Busy, _ like there’s so much goddamn shit going on in his personal life. But Connor was tenacious and insisted that they at least _ try _to retrieve his memories.

Hank had told the asshole android, “I think there’s still something in there. He’s…” Christ. It was fucking embarrassing explaining this thing to a colleague who’s _ all _ derision _ all _ the time. “He has muscle memory.”

“It’s possible there are remnants,” Richard agreed. “But I don’t have a backup of the memories themselves and it was necessary to erase them quite thoroughly. Even if there is some junk data remaining, it will all be disconnected fragments, buried deep in unrelated file structures.”

“It feels as though,if only I could get my memories back, there would be a way to activate the systems,” Connor said.

“If _ any _sexual memories will work, I can give you a dump of my own experiences.” Richard looked down his nose at the pair of them. “But it’s the last thing I’m doing for you, RK800.”

Of course, Gavin and Hank both nixed the fuck out of that idea.

“Not a _ phckin’ chance in hell, _Robopornographer. You’re not handing this plastic asshole some Greatest Hits sex tape,” Gavin barked.

“You think I want Connor’s head full of _ your _ disgusting sex?” Hank challenged at almost the same moment. “We’ll figure something else out.”

“Thank you, Hank,” Connor said quietly, placing his hand on Hank’s arm. His look was gentle and earnest. “But I’d prefer to try if it means I will be able to be intimate with you.”

Richard was a bit less gentle. “Detective Reed, you do not own me nor do you own my memories and if I wish to share them, I will.”

“The _ phck_?! I’m one half of this party, you asshole!”

Richard hummed and grinned. “It isn’t as if they’re being uploaded on the Internet for all to see, though I’d gladly do that. The whole world could benefit from the faces you make when—”

“Enough of that,” Hank snapped. He waved one hand. “Transfer them or don’t, but get it over with.”

In the end, Richard broke his disgusting memories down to simple data, which appeased Gavin, once it was explained to him that Connor wouldn’t actually _ see _ what they’d been doing together. Hank kept his expression blank, but he was damn relieved as well. He didn’t want Connor re-learning about sex from the idiot duo.

Didn’t amount to much, in the end. After the data was transferred, Connor still wasn’t able to access his systems.

So that left Markus.

Or rather, the resources Markus has at his command. 

“I know that you have former CyberLife employees who are friendly to our cause,” Connor is saying quietly.

“As well as androids learning the ins and outs of our own programming,” Markus agrees. He tilts his head, his mismatched eyes slightly narrowed in concentration. “Most of them are working on reverse engineering CyberLife’s backup servers at the moment.”

Connor’s resolute expression doesn’t falter. “I know this is selfish, but Markus…” Connor’s skin peels back from his fingertips and he holds out his hand. Markus takes it and the exchange of information begins. And Hank is left there, the third wheel on this bicycle.

Again he has to fight away little flecks of jealousy that arise as they speak in secret—probably sharing intimate memories. It’s something Hank’s never worried about before. It’s one thing to be with someone who gossips about your performance in bed, but it’s a whole other sack of potatoes when they can just beam every intimate detail into someone else’s head.

When they break apart, Markus glances at Hank and then back at Connor and yep, he just shared _ every fucking thing, _didn’t he?

“I might be able to spare someone half-time,” Markus says after a long minute of consideration, and the little ball of tension Hank didn’t realize was wound tight in his stomach starts to unravel.

“You think they’ll be able to fix the, uh, issue?” Hank asks.

“If they can’t, no one can.”

* * *

_ If they can’t… _hangs in Hank’s head as he holds Connor close that night, his bare chest pressed against Connor’s back. He wraps his arm tighter around Connor’s waist and trails kisses along his neck and Connor makes contented noises. Hank strokes along the side of Connor’s body, running the backs of his fingers across his hip and across his smooth pubic area, over his flaccid cock.

“Hank?” Connor murmurs. His voice is warm, but there’s a note of something else.. A tiny seed of doubt, maybe the same one Hank is feeling. “If they can’t fix me…” He cuts the tap on his words, and the space between them feels vast, so Hank does the only thing he can, he just keeps holding on.

Fucking selfish words pop into Hank’s head and he can’t hold them back.

“I love you, Connor.”

Selfish, because they weren’t said in a perfect, joyous moment.

Selfish, because they’re desperate.

Selfish, because Hank _ needs _ Connor to know. _ Needs _him to stay. If he loses Connor… He licks his lips, troubled by the phantom taste of alcohol. He stays on the straight and narrow for Connor. Without him… what’s the point?

God-fucking-dammit, Hank is weak.

“I’m sorry,” Hank grumbles.

Connor’s LED illuminates the dark in processing-yellow, casting shadows on the wall.

“Why?”

Hank’s not sure if that ‘why’ was aimed at the love confession or the apology, so he explains both in a halting, stumbling ramble that probably doesn’t make a bit of sense. “You’re...perfect. You’re everything I didn’t even know I needed. It’s all been fucking building inside me since that first moment I met you at Jimmy’s. I wanted to throw you into the wall and then you told me you were ‘worth a small fortune’ and I thought, ‘the balls on this asshole.’ But, still, it made me laugh.”

“You didn’t laugh,” Connor corrects him quietly.

“I did on the inside,” Hank says. “God, you just rammed your way right into my heart. You never listen. You’re always trying to get yourself killed—you _ did _ get yourself killed—and you… I mean, Sumo loves you. How can I not love you, kid?”

“But you’re sorry,” Connor says flatly. “About loving me.”

“Nah,” Hank says. “I should be, maybe. I’m not much of a catch. But… I’m not sorry I love you. I’m sorry I’m so fucking...broken. So desperate. So selfish. So jealous. What if you don’t want to be with me, huh? What if your systems don’t ever come back on and you don’t want to—”

Connor breaks away from Hank, turning on him in an instant. His LED is an angry red and he glares. It shouldn’t excite Hank so much, but goddamn, it does. Connor crashes into him, their lips tangling, Connor forcing his tongue into Hank’s mouth, kissing him until Hank has to choose between the sweet untaste of Connor's mouth and fighting free to breathe. 

When they break apart, Connor is still glaring angrily.

“Why would you even _ think _ that, Hank?” Connor demands. “I _ love you, too_.”

God, he wields the words like a weapon—there’s hardly even time to process the fact they’ve both laid down their cards. Definitely not a flowers-and-chocolates kind of ‘I love you’ reveal. Hank grins, which makes Connor frown more deeply.

“What are you smiling about?”

“You love me,” Hank says, and tucks his arm behind his head. “Means you might not leave me.”

“Of course I won’t leave you!” Connor says passionately. “But I can’t...get erect. What if this is who I am now? What if I’m never able to achieve orgasm? What if you want someone who _ can_?”

“Con—”

“Don’t you understand, Hank? I loved you long before the sexual systems turned on. And of course I want to _ feel _ you physically the way I feel you in my heart—but...but if I can’t, that doesn’t stop me loving you. That doesn’t stop me wanting to be close to you. Hank, I…” His face is flushed with passion and anger and maybe embarrassment. “Yesterday when you were inside me, I’ve never felt so happy. When I put my mouth on you, when I touched you. You smiled at me and you looked at me with hungry eyes and I… _ felt _ your love.”

“You did?”

Connor nods, a short little jerk of his head. “Or...I thought I did. I _ hoped _ I did.” The red of his LED finally gives way to yellow. “What about you? Will _you _leave? I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Kid, I’m not going _ anywhere_.”

“I love you,” he says.

“I love you, too,” Hank says. “Sex systems or no. I just… you make me a better person, alright?”

“And you make me more than my programming.”

“So… we agree then?” Hank asks, and he pulls Connor down into a lingering, tender kiss.

“Nmm,” Connor groans. “We love each other,” he whispers against Hank’s lips when the kiss breaks.

“So, so much,” Hank agrees.

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback buries Cosmo in pure joy! <3 Please consider letting me know what you think.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, but rejection stings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone got your marshmallows? Good! Gather 'round the trashfire.

**-BONUS-**

Gavin stomps around his apartment, moving from room to room with restless and hostile energy. Because… because of that glitching Playstation. Because he can’t find the phcking remote. Because Nines found the world’s ugliest blanket and threw it over _ his _ chair in an attempt to ‘hide’ it. Because Nines…

Gavin’s cheeks grow hot as he thinks about it.

...he rejected him.

_ Him. _Gavin phcking Reed. The man that horrible flaming toaster seems to want to phck 24-7. Seriously, Gavin has had more sex with the android than he’s had in his entire life. (He counted. What? Doesn’t everyone keep track of the times they’ve scored?) Nines is in-phcking-satiable. He wants it in the morning. He wants it in the bathroom at work. He wants it the second Gavin is finished with dinner—which, let a man phcking digest his food, demondroid! 

Gavin is getting off at least twice a day, if not three times or more. 

And yay sex! (No, seriously, yay sex… Except for the occasional chafing.) 

But then Gavin _ offered _ to go down on Nines ONE TIME. And he’s not the offering sort. He’s been ordered down to the robot’s crotch-area. He’s been shoved down there. He’s had his hair held and his mouth forced open. He’s had his face fucked. And he’s given so much head he thinks his jaw can unhinge now, like a phcking snake. But he’s never _ offered. _

Until today.

They were in a squad car, patrolling the neighborhood where that wanna-be android politician got offed. 

They’ve been helping out Lieutenant Lush and the Impotent Wonder with the case, because the department is under a lot of pressure from the android community to find her killer. Gavin would have thought that Nines would be a little more passionate about the case, seeing as it’s an android murder and mutilation—but he treats it like he treats all things: with mild interest at best, but generally cold disdain.

Anyway, they got out of the car to take a look at the makeshift memorial outside the politician’s apartment. Flowers and candles and pictures and all kinds of shit. And Nines scanned everything because sometimes sick fucks come back to leave taunting messages. Or flowers. But either way they came up empty.

And while they were driving back to the precinct, Gavin said casually, “So, I’ve been thinking. If you park us in the back lot…” He trailed off, feeling strangely, and uncharacteristically, nervous. “Wouldn’t mind showing you a good time.”

Nines glanced at Gavin out of the corner of his eye. “No thank you, Detective.”

Gavin had just offered to suck Nines’ dick in the back of the patrol car. But… you know what? Phck him. Phck him up his stupid asshole.

“Gavin?” Nines says as Gavin stomps through the living room for the fifth time that night. “I get the sense that you’re distressed.”

“You phckin’ think so, huh? Where’s my goddamn remote? I swear to God, if you don’t stop moving shit around—”

“You put the remote right over there.” He points to the spot next to the television, which Gavin _ knows _he phcking checked already. “Are you going to tell me what’s actually wrong?”

Gavin shoots daggers at Nines with his eyes as he stomps over and snatches it up. “You’re so smart, figure it the phck out.”

Then he goes to his bedroom, which, is really dumb because he’s still holding the goddamn remote. He slams the door and throws himself down on the bed. It’s not five minutes later that Nines opens the door. (Knocking just isn’t an option for Mr. Manners there.) Wordlessly, he begins to strip off his clothes and Gavin sits straight up.

“Uh-uh,” he says, shaking his head. “No phcking way. Put your clothes back on, because I am absolutely not having sex with you.”

Nines raises an eyebrow and continues to strip.

“You know what toaster oven, I phcking _ offered _you head today. You turned me down. So seriously, put your—don’t phcking drop your…” Nines’ boxer briefs slip to the floor, his cock prominent and erect. Gavin’s stirs to life in response and he shoves his hands into his lap, like he can hide his dick being the phcking traitor it is.

Wordlessly, Nines slips into bed and pulls Gavin into his arms.

“Don’t—! Phcking—!”

“I’m attempting to hold you,” Nines tells him plainly. “Stop struggling and let yourself be held.”

“I don’t _ want _to be held you plastic phcker!”

“You want to scream and break things and be a petulant asshole,” Nines says. “We’re going to do this instead.”

In the end, Gavin allows himself to be held, but he grumbles and grouses as he’s coaxed and prodded and turned into the little spoon. “I phcking hate you.”

“You’re upset I rejected your ill-timed advances.”

“Ill—?! Ill-timed? What? Because I wanted to do it in the squad car? _ You _ want to screw everywhere all the time. What makes this so different?”

“Because we’d just left the memorial of a woman who was brutally murdered.” Nines’ voice is low. “And I know that doesn’t mean anything to you—given your disdain for androids—but those messages left by her supporters were...upsetting.”

Gavin stills and then slowly turns in Nines’ arms. The android’s light is flickering red and Gavin feels like...well, twice-cooked dog shit, actually.

“I didn’t know that you… I mean… You were really upset?”

Nines nods shortly. “Did you _ read _the messages? Many of them were quite hostile. Anti-human sentiments. A crime like this only widens the divide between our people, Gavin. I don’t…” Nines’ jaw is tense as he says, “I don’t want to lose you. So no, at that moment I did not want to have sex.”

Cook that dog shit a third time, ’cause Gavin’s pretty much the biggest asshole in the entire world.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, pulling out his best apology. 

Nines leans forward and kisses him gently. “It’s alright,” he says. “You’re one of the least perceptive humans I’ve ever met. It’s a wonder you made detective at all.”

“The phck?!” Gavin huffs, “You phcking take that back!”

“No,” Nines says and his smile is a bit dark and very mischievous. “Now that the air is cleared and the time is more appropriate, Gavin Reed, why don’t you show me what you were planning to do in the back of that squad car?”

And phck Gavin’s life… he does.

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes Cosmo break out the bubbly! <3 Please consider letting me know what you think!


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get bad in Hank's head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is bordering RIIIIIGHT on the edge of being late. I hope you're all doing well and that you'll enjoy this chapter. It's a bit dark, so if you're low--please don't read right now--take care of yourselves. <3

Markus assigns an android named Josh to help Connor. It’s slow-going because he’s got a slew of other assignments, but at least it’s something. Hank likes the guy immediately, unlike some other members of Markus’ inner circle. Josh’s open and friendly and when he talks about the revolution, he’s all admiration for the peaceful way Markus approached it. He’s curious about Hank and Connor’s relationship, but his questions are tactful and not too prodding.

Connor goes over every other day for tests and experiments. Whatever Richard did to Connor’s sexual systems, he fucked ’em up bad. But apparently it was necessary because…

“The virus is still there?” Hank repeats Josh’s words, blinking. “You mean—”

Josh’s look is sympathetic but forthright. “I mean that we can’t just flip the switch. He’ll be right where he was before—unable to control his programming. And we’re having to move carefully. RK900 did a good job quarantining it, but this virus is particularly...aggressive.”

“And we don’t want you catching it,” Hank says.

“It would certainly make things difficult if I did.”

So, yeah, it’ll be a long road...

But in the meantime, Hank and Connor’ll make things work their own way. They still kiss _ all the fucking time_. 

Every day, the moment they get home from work and the door closes behind them, Connor is all over Hank, dragging him down onto the couch. It makes Hank feel like a cranky, graying teenager, the way he and Connor spend _ hours _ making out.

When Hank becomes aroused—which happens all too often—Connor practically purrs with satisfaction. And then he insists on pleasuring Hank, and Hank should _ definitely _ stop him until they’ve got the virus thing cured. After all, it’s not fair to Connor...but how the hell can Hank say no to the most beautiful android in the world when his eyes are dark and his bottom lip slick with Hank’s saliva and he’s _ insisting? _

Hank’s fucking weak.

And so, he lets Connor blow him or jerk him off. _Lets?_ That’s not right. Usually the offer’s barely left Connor’s mouth before Hank is saying _Yes, God, fucking hell._ And then he gets off and Connor doesn’t and Hank feels _so good_ for about half a minute and then like absolute fucking shit for hours.

* * *

On top of all of that, Hank’s been having nightmares. 

Sara Hope, the daughter of the murdered android politician, comes by the precinct sometimes with her mom’s friend to check in on the case. Hank would give a month’s wages to make it just _ stop. _He can’t handle the look in Sara’s eyes. Can’t handle the way that, even now, they still seem so haunted. He leaves Connor to deal with the kid every time, but never before that soulful stare gets turned on him.

Hank’s well aware that he’s letting this kid down and it’s coming up in his nightmares in weirdass ways. Namely...he’ll start dreaming he’s at the crime scene, finding Regina, nude, and all marked up, but the words on her body are about how Hank’s let down _ the kids_. Some nights the manifesto doesn’t even mention Regina’s daughter. It’s all about how Hank failed Cole and let his son die. 

It’s gotten so bad that one night he woke up shouting, and all Connor could do was hold him close and murmur comforting words until Hank cried himself to sleep.

After that, Hank stopped sleeping.

Tonight he sits on the bank, fishing in the river behind his house, his head full of noise. Angry bees that just won’t let him rest. He casts the line and he stares at the bobber, swaying gently under the full moon. Fishing is a hell of a lot less fun sober.

“Hank?” Connor’s voice is strained and Hank blearily looks up, seeing Connor standing there in sweatpants and a t-shirt that says _ Detroit_. He looks good. Good enough to eat, if Hank were hungry.

But, right now, Hank’s just tired.

And sad.

And angry.

He reels in his line. He casts again.

“Hank?” Connor says again, approaching slowly. “It’s three o’clock. You only have two more hours to get sleep before we need to start getting ready for work.”

“I know,” Hank says.

He grips his fishing pole hard, trying to ignore the competing urges that are flooding through him. He wants to play that old familiar game: load the bullet, spin the chamber, pull the trigger.. He wants to fuck Connor through the mattress. He’s not gonna do either. Instead, he’ll sit here and fish and try not to think about Regina’s daughter or Cole and do his best to unravel this fucking unsolvable murder.

Connor kneels down next to him and places a light hand on his shoulder.

“Bad night?”

Hank grunts in acknowledgement. He’s not drunk, but it’d be so much easier if he were. It’d feel so good to just… lose himself.

“If you come to bed, I’ll hold you,” Connor offers, but Hank just shakes his head.

“Don’t want to sleep,” he says gruffly and the bobber slips under the water. He fights the fish for a long time, letting out the line and reeling it in, letting it out, reeling, letting...reeling… A fight that ends with him winning. But winning what? A fish he’d have to carry home with his bare hands? He stares at it, flopping on the shore, watches it suffocate.

Hank’s suffocating, too.

“Let’s put it back,” Connor says gently, unhooking the fish.

Sweet Connor, always trying to save the world, one miserable being at a time.

The fish slips back into the water and darts away. It’s gotten a reprieve. He wonders if fish feel relief.

“Hank?” Connor leans his head against Hank’s shoulder. “Why won’t you let me hold you tonight?”

“’Cause sometimes you’ve just gotta hurt,” Hank says, and closes his eyes. Connor makes a confused noise. Hank knows he’s hurting Connor, knows the kid doesn’t _ get it. _He knows Connor can’t understand why sometimes he can’t be enough to make the pain stop. “I love you with my whole goddamn heart, you know that?”

“I…” Connor trails off.

“But, Con, there’s a hole here.” Hank taps his chest. “This fucking black, festering wound that’s never gonna heal up right. And you can’t… you can’t touch it.” He turns and looks at Connor, lifting one of Connor’s hands and kissing his knuckles. “That doesn’t mean I don’t love you, though.”

“I can _ try_, Hank,” Connor says. “I can _ try to help_.”

“Sometimes...it’s just gotta hurt,” he says again, and he pulls Connor down to him, wrapping his arm around Connor’s shoulders.

Hank doesn’t sleep that night.

* * *

The less he sleeps, the harder it is to make sense of the case. And it’s not as if there’s no other shit on his plate. 

He’s got two court dates back-to-back and he guzzles coffee and reviews his notes and he does his damnedest not to be combative on the stand. The first one is a child murderer—easy enough. That motherfucker’s gonna get put away for life. The other is a woman who killed her husband. Everything Hank learned about the man says he was an abusive asshole and honestly… Honestly, Hank’s not sure she should go to prison. But the lawyers don’t give him an opening. He lays out the facts, and by the look of the jury, they’re gonna find her guilty.

Add that frustration to the shit-pile.

The disaster duo are helping Connor and Hank on the politician’s case. 

Connor and Richard confer about the evidence, spending long minutes trading analysis via touch. Gavin leans against Hank’s desk, looking like an asshole, and chugging coffee.

“Look at the two of them,” he says and Hank does. He doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Their LEDs are flashing yellow—processing information, trading thoughts and theories—their combined processing power trying to get to the heart of the issue. “Wonder what they’re phckin’ talking about.”

“The case, Reed,” Hank says grumpily. “What the hell else?”

“Who phcks better,” Gavin says, and then with a snarling grin he says. “Oh, wait, your robot can’t get it up, can he?”

Next thing Hank knows, he’s in Fowler’s office getting his ass handed to him. He shouldn’t have broken Gavin’s nose. He knows better than this. It’s going in his disciplinary file and blah blah blah…

“Can’t stand the sound of his voice,” Hank grumbles.

“_Ignore him_,” Fowler demands. “Why don’t you just _ ignore him_?”

Hank’s spent years _ ignoring _ Gavin Reed. Ignoring his childish rhetoric, his backbiting, and his pissed off, entitled attitude. But Hank hasn’t slept in days and Gavin’s a fucking prick who took a potshot at the man Hank loves, and his stupid scarred nose was _ asking _ to get punched. So Hank punched it.

“Hank, go home.”

“You’re suspending me?” _ Fuck that_. “What a load of bullshit!”

Fowler slams his hands on his desk, “Goddammit, Hank! You know what’s bullshit? _ You punching a fellow officer because of some stupid locker room talk you won’t even repeat. _ Now, I’m _ not _ suspending you. I’m _ strongly advising _ that you use some of that leave you’ve been saving up to _ take yourself a fucking rest_.”

Hank glares, his nostrils flaring, but he bites down on his anger.

“Three days, Hank.”

* * *

Hank spends the first two days lounging on the couch watching non-stop sports. Even shit he’s not remotely interested in, like tennis. He drinks more Red than he probably should, but what Connor doesn’t know about Hank’s sugar intake won’t hurt him. And he goes for walks with Sumo when the dog insists. 

When Connor’s shifts end, Hank practically drags him to the bedroom, hungry to get off and looking for the warmth and comfort of his arms. And then he lays in bed and he dozes.

But the dreams keep coming.

In them, he knows who killed Regina, and he’s chasing the bastard. Sometimes he even gets close enough to grab the guy. But that’s when he suddenly feels like he’s underwater, like every step is a battle against a racing current. And when he rounds the corner (because there’s always a fucking corner), Hank’s face-to-face with Sara Hope who starts screaming that _ Hank _is the real killer. Next thing he knows he’s in the E.R., holding Cole while the boy bleeds out. And no matter how loud Hank yells for help, none of the doctors or nurses stop. Every dream ends with Cole dying, while the killer watches from the shadows.

Hank sneaks out of the house again to go sit at the river’s edge, and Connor comes after him, bringing him a thermos of cocoa and a blanket. And they sit together.

“I wish...I could figure it out,” Hank slurs. He’s so tired that the words are thick in his mouth. “If I could just figure it out…” 

Then what? The victim’s daughter will stop haunting his dreams? His son will stop dying every night? Finding Regina’s murderer won’t bring her back, and it sure as hell won’t absolve him of his guilt over Cole’s death.

“Hank,” Connor says, his tone measured, with only a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “I’ve been thinking about something. Researching. And I want to… well… I have a suggestion, but I’m...concerned how you might take it.”

“Just say it, Con.”

Hank is so goddamn tired.

Connor takes Hank’s hand, pulling it close and slowly tracing the lines on his palm. It’s soothing, familiar in a far-off sort of way. He does this for a long while before finally lacing their fingers. “Have you ever considered speaking to a professional? Someone trained to help?”

Hank involuntarily draws back, but Connor doesn’t let go. He just squeezes Hank’s hand tightly, his gaze fixed on the river.

“I don’t need a fucking—”

“You aren’t sleeping,” Connor says quietly. “And when you do sleep, you wake up screaming or crying. You punched Detective Reed in the face—”

“He deserved that.”

“I’m certain he did,” Connor agrees with a little smile. “But I suspect hitting him wasn’t a _ choice _ you made _ consciously_, Hank. I want to help you. I want it...so much.” His voice is barely a whisper. “And if you told me holding you would be enough, then I’d hold you forever. If you thought talking to me would be enough, then I’d listen until you ran out of words. But you said it yourself, you love me, but I can’t fix this.”

“I also said, ‘sometimes you’ve just gotta hurt.’”

“And I…” Connor slowly turns to look at Hank, his expression serious. He wets his lips. “Hank, I don’t believe that’s true.”

Hank has no reply to that, just a jumbled ball of spikes and wires in his gut that twist and dig in response to the thought of sitting in a chair and telling some stranger that sometimes he wishes he was dead because being alive means that at any moment it can all come rushing back. Sharing that he feels...guilty...sometimes, because he’s in love with the most wonderful android and that he knows he doesn’t deserve the happiness Connor brings him? That he misses drinking almost (ALMOST) as much as he misses his son and that the only thing keeping him from drinking himself into a coma is Connor?

“I don’t want you to feel forced, Hank,” Connor says and gently turns Hank’s head to plant a kiss on his lips. “It’s only a suggestion. I just want you to be…”

“Don’t say happy,” Hank says.

“I was going to say ‘alright,’ but…” Connor’s LED flashes yellow in the dark, scattering reflected light across the water’s rippling surface. “Why not shoot for ‘happy,’ Hank? You _ deserve _ to be happy.”

* * *

The next day, Hank drives past the liquor store three times, circling, circling, circling before idling in front of the shop. He cracks his knuckles and leans his forehead against the steering wheel. He curses and bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood.

And then Hank tears his eyes away from the large windows full of glimmering bottles of booze, and their promised oblivion, and he reaches into his pocket for his phone and the folded piece of paper he found on the fridge.

There’s a phone number and a note in CyberLife Sans.

_ She’s supposed to be one of the best. Just something to think about. I love you, Lieutenant Anderson_.

Hank dials.

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes Cosmo's four dachshunds very happy. (Who doesn't want to impress a dachshund?) Please consider telling us what you think!


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember that time Hank broke Gavin's nose? Yeah, he does too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A happy Sunday to all! (Oh weekend...where did you go?)

**-BONUS-**

Gavin glares at the ceiling, puffing on a cigarette as best he can, and plotting his revenge. The tin can lays beside him, all phcked out and soft, a fact Gavin would enjoy _ a lot more _ if it weren’t for Hank Phcking Anderson and his tiny baby sensitive feelings. _ Who breaks someone’s nose over a joke? _(Gavin’s done it. Phck you. Not the point.)

Gavin can’t breathe through his nose, which makes smoking really phcking hard.

He just had his _ dick _ inside Nines’ _ asshole_. And sure, the state-of-the-art waffle iron may have controlled all the movements—’cause when does he ever _ not_?—but there was penetration. It’s a rare and beautiful thing. And all Gavin can think about is how his goddamn nose hurts.

Suddenly the cigarette is plucked from his lips.

“Hey!” Gavin cries, making a grab for it. He needs the nicotine more than he needs oxygen, except he’s suddenly racked by a coughing fit that says maybe his body disagrees. “Give me my phcking smoke.”

Just to be a digi-snake, Nines rolls over and takes an inhumanly long drag off the cigarette, smoking all the way down to the filter. Gavin waits for the exhale, ready to suck some of that second-hand smoke into his lungs. It doesn’t come.

“Oh, seriously? Phck you, toaster.”

“I believe you already did,” Nines says and flicks the cigarette butt from his side of the bed over to Gavin’s ashtray with aim that would make Jesse Friedmont jealous. (Detroit Crimson Sharks. Jesus. Learn your phckin’ sports teams.)

“I’m gonna kill him.” It’s not lost on Gavin how stuffy and stupid he sounds. “I’m gonna hit him with his own ugly-ass car. And then I’m gonna pin it on his goddamn Traci-wannabe.”

“No you’re not.”

“Well, I’m not doing it _ alone_. You’re gonna help me. Do that pre-whatever magic you do where you figure out the perfect murder and then let’s get to it. I want that fat phck dead by dawn.”

“It’s called pre-constructing and there’s only one murder I’ve ever planned.”

Gavin cuts his eyes over at Nines. He means Gavin’s, doesn’t he? It always comes back to murder with them.

“You insulted his lover,” Nines reminds him. “It was unnecessary and you did it to be an asshole. If he’d insulted me, you would have hit him, too.”

Gavin barks a laugh. And barks another. Then a third for good measure. “Me? Defend _ your _ honor, Zeroes-and-Ones? No phckin’ way.”

Nines cocks a dark brow and takes Gavin by the wrist. Suspicious, Gavin tries to pull away, but the plastic phcker won’t let go. He raises Gavin’s hand to his mouth and lets his middle finger slip inside the hot, wet heat.

“I… _Nnh!_”

Goddammit dick, why do you have to be this way? Hungry. The phcking toaster has made him hungry _ all the goddamn time_. And he just came, so getting hard again aches in a slightly miserable way.

“You’re saying”—Nines runs his tongue around the tip of Gavin’s finger—“that if Hank Anderson were to come up to you”—he takes it deeper inside—“and mock my sexual prowess…”

“Phck phck phck…”

He twists his tongue around Gavin’s finger, drawing the pointer into his mouth as well. He sucks hard, sending the sensation straight to Gavin’s cock. He pulls off with a wet popping noise. “That you wouldn’t take it as a personal insult and”—he nips Gavin’s fingers playfully, his eyes lusty and focused on Gavin’s face. _ See what I can do to you, human? _his eyes seem to say—“you wouldn’t punch him right in the face?”

“Okay.” Gavin groans. “Point taken.”

Doesn’t matter what the point is, he just doesn’t want Nines to stop what he’s doing.

“Glad you see things my way.” And then in one swift movement, Nines grabs Gavin’s legs, throwing them up over his shoulders so that Gavin is bent in half, with his ass turned up for the taking. “Now get your head in the game, Detective Reed, because we’re about to prove Imaginary Hank Anderson completely wrong about my performance.”

God-phcking-dammit.

_ Yes. _

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback gives Cosmo untold vitality! <3 Please consider letting me know what you think.


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sumo. Attack!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I apologize for no update last week. I needed to neatly organize all my ducks into a little row. They're there now! *quack*
> 
> Secondly, I still owe MANY of you replies and I'm so sorry--I read every single comment (usually out loud to the editor hubs)--and I do my best to reply to each and every one...but I am behind! Forgive me ;__;
> 
> And most important of all: How is everyone? Are you staying safe and healthy? I hope so! I think about you guys a lot and hope you're taking care of yourselves during these intense times.

“Alright,” Josh says. “I think we’re ready.”

Hank’s never really been superstitious (except about sports, but that’s different), but in his jacket pocket, he crosses his fingers and he hopes for a minor miracle. 

They’re only activating one system—simulated breathing. Of course, it’s not even really connected to the main sexual architecture, but somehow it got all tangled up together when everything went to hell.

“I’m pretty sure the virus is still safely quarantined. But in case something goes wrong, Connor, be prepared for shutdown.”

Connor nods and Hank shifts uncomfortably. Seeing Connor in shutdown is the fucking worst. Reminds him way too much of the corpses he’s seen on the job. 

Cold. 

_ Gone_. 

But they’ve gotta try, right? 

Because sometimes Hank finds Connor sitting at the kitchen table, his LED processing yellow with flickers of red. He stares hard at nothing and when Hank speaks to him, his smile is just a shade too bright to be convincing.

Hank wonders if he’s not the only one who needs therapy. But the world’s only just beginning to treat androids like something other than property. You can’t just browse listings on the internet for a therapist specializing in android issues, and especially not the ones Connor is facing. Not yet.

“You know I love you, right?” Hank’s never felt anything more deeply than this love, except his dedication to Cole. But he feels like a hypocrite, because it wasn’t so long ago that he told Connor that he couldn’t heal Hank’s pain. And here Hank is, trying to do the same.

“I know, Hank.”

Maybe this will work. And maybe, when it’s done, Connor won’t stare off into space, silently processing things that Hank can’t understand.

The transfer takes about two seconds and when the androids break apart, Connor draws in a huge breath. Hank feels chills just watching him breathe again, knowing that when they’re in bed together, he’ll get to feel not only Connor’s warmth, but also the rise and fall of his chest. He knows, as well, that he can make him gasp when they’re kissing. And maybe one day (soon?), he’ll be able to make him gasp in other ways.

“How do you feel?” Josh asks, staring at Connor curiously. “Can you turn the system off?”

Connor’s LED blinks yellow for long seconds and Hank stares at his chest, waiting for the tell-tale sign of breath. Or maybe some indication that things aren’t right. After almost forty-five seconds, Connor beams. “Yes! I’m able to switch between functionalities.” And he draws in a breath again. “I believe it worked!”

Thank God.

_ Thank fucking God. _

They’re making progress.

* * *

Hank’s making some progress of his own. 

This isn’t his first stint in therapy. He and his ex-wife did the whole couples counseling _ thing _ for a while before they wised up and realized their money was better spent on other things...like divorce. But unlike the prick who insisted that every single thing wrong in Hank’s marriage was _ his _ fault—this shrink seems a little more familiar with the middle ground.

Her name is Carla, she’s a former addict herself and she understands how bad he still wants to drink. Gives him his due for staying sober. The woman doesn’t pull her punches either, which he appreciates, but she drives home this point every session: _ fucking be kind to yourself, Hank Anderson._

At first, he hated that, hated the way those words made him feel.

_ Be kind to yourself. _

As if he deserves kindness or some bullshit.

For a long time, the thought of being kind to himself made his skin crawl.

But then she put it to him, simple as pie: When you _ aren’t _kind to yourself, you hurt the people around you. The people who love you. The people who need you.

_ Connor_.

So he promises to try and God, it’s a bitch of a thing, but he comes home after his sessions and Connor is waiting for him with dinner and a warm smile, and it gets a little easier. Connor doesn’t ask what they talked about, he just sits in quiet support, and so Hank does what he’s supposed to do.

And maybe… a little… he’s feeling better.

* * *

Tonight after therapy, Hank and Connor drive down to Belle-Isle in the rain, the music on the radio a harsh thrumming beat, but set low enough that it’s difficult to make out the lyrics, and Connor goes over the details of the Regina Hope case again like they both don’t live in it every day.

A random tip has dragged them out tonight. 

The number of hotline calls has been dwindling, with the exception of the odd resurgence whenever someone does a news piece on how the DPD doesn’t give a flying fuck about androids and their rights and safety.

It’s the same shit Hank’s been hearing his whole career.

The police can’t get the solve? Must be because they don’t care about XYZ. The public doesn’t see the hours he puts in, they don’t know about the boxes and boxes of old case files he’s got in his closet at home, they don’t realize he’s haunted by every perp that’s slipped through his fingers.

Hank _ cares _ about Regina Hope.

He _ cares _ enough about Hope to look into CyberLife.

If you think post-revolution CyberLife is a wounded animal bleeding out in the low brush, then you don’t know shit. They still wield a tremendous amount of power.

And the truth is...deep in that fight-or-flight part of his brain...Hank _ almost _ wants to run. Because CyberLife _ feels _like a threat to everything he cares about. He glances over at Connor and then back at the road, taking the round-about and then following the lane on up to the gate. 

Even the CyberLife building itself adds to the air of menace. It’s cold. Impersonal. _Designed to intimidate. _Just walking inside makes him want to step in front of Connor and protect him from every bad thing. He doesn’t know if he’s imagining the eyes on him, or if they’re really being watched, and he doesn’t care. This building _is _danger.

But this is where their investigation has led them.

All things android flow through CyberLife...one way or another.

Maybe it should’ve _ started _ here, but until they got the tip, there hadn’t been a toehold. It’s not like they could just go in and ask, _ So, as a corporation, this woman’s politics threatened you, huh? Must be delighted she’s dead... _

Tonight they’re having a little chat with Charlie Gray, Senior VP of something or another. He gave Hank his card, but the man’s title doesn’t really matter just now. Without the tip, Gray wouldn’t even be on their radar—his social media is full of bland CyberLife propaganda with only the one statement about Regina Hope, posted the day after her murder. Almost a carbon copy of the one CyberLife released to the media. _ Blah blah blah _ …_her death was tragic_.

But once they had his name, they did a little poking around in his financials. And now, here they are in his office.

Gray’s eyes are clear and guileless. His expression isn’t quite friendly; it isn’t quite anything. “How can I help you, detectives?” The tone of the words carries his first true message. _ I don’t have time for this. _

Hank leans against Gray’s desk, black glass with inset monitors evenly spaced out. Connor stands at the other side of the room, letting Hank take point. He’ll pop in if he feels like it, for now he observes and scans the environment. Convenient sometimes, having an android for a partner. “Like I said on the phone, just a couple of questions for you. We’re curious what you can tell us about Regina Hope.”

“An AP700, I gather she was deviant long before the uprising. Unless you have a warrant, I’m afraid I can’t tell you much more about her specifications than what is publicly available.” His eyes flick over to Connor dismissively. _ Your android pet can find all this for you _ online_. _

“Yeaaaaah…” Hank says slowly. “That’s not what I’m asking. I’m wondering what _ you, _ your very own self, can tell us about Regina. As a person. As a political candidate. Did you know her?” And then Hank says, with a half-smirk, “And before you cleverly cobble together a bunch of bullshit lies that’ll keep me and my partner here all night... let me give you a little spoiler: we _ know _ what you did.”

That triggers a reaction, however slight. The man’s hand twitches toward his computer. _ Hide, delete, cover. _ “I’m not sure what you mean, detective. Are you accusing me of deactivating Regina Hope?”

“Wow,” Hank says, the smirk not leaving his face. He looks up at Connor who is now slowly circling the room. “You hear that, Con? Guy jumped right from ‘didja know her?’ to ‘I didn’t kill her!’ 

Hank likes having Gray on edge, but getting under the guy’s skin is almost too easy. He’s dealt with a million douchebag company-man types like this. Same suit, same haircut, same scuzzy, corporate mentality, different day.

“I was more talking about the fact that there were several large donations made to _ four _ of Hope’s political rivals within the week before her death. And when we took the time to look hard at them...what do you know? Every one could be traced back to you.” When Gray makes to open his mouth, Hank says, “Didn’t CyberLife come out with some big public promise that neither they nor their subsidiaries would take any active role in politics?” He looks at Connor like he actually needs confirmation.

The two minutes it takes Gray to work out his answer are telling. When the man finally speaks, he meets Hank’s eyes. “Those donations were all made with my own personal funds, and for my own reasons. You’ve heard of hedging your bets, right? My family owns a 3% stake in CyberLife and that AP700’s _ politics _threatened the company, what else is there to say?” 

“That’s a lot of fuckin’ money,” Hank says.

“It _ is, _ ” Gray replies. “But I didn’t _ deactivate _that android.”

Connor moves in to strike. “_ Her _ name was Regina Hope, Mr. Gray, and whatever your personal feelings on the matter, the law considers her ‘deactivation’ to be _ murder_. Can you account for your whereabouts on the night of her death?” Connor lays out the time and date and they watch Gray grab his phone—to check his schedule or stall for time. 

After a moment, something like relief seems to pass through his body and his shoulders sag, just a fraction of an inch. “I was at Ball & Cue that night, until last call. And before you ask, I can give you the names of multiple people who will back that story up. So whatever desperate little ‘Oh, Gray wanted the android out of the picture, he must have stabbed her to death’ fantasy you’ve been putting together in your head...You can let it go. It wasn’t me.” 

Maybe not. 

It’ll be easy enough to check. 

But there’s something else here... some secret thing Hank can’t immediately suss out. Even after all this time, he still hasn’t found enough pieces of the puzzle to make even a half-formed picture of why Regina had to die. 

Hank’s gut says this guy is shady as fuck. And even if he didn’t kill Regina, he’s their first solid link in the chain that will lead them to finding out who did. 

“Look, I’m sorry she’s dead,” Gray says with the same inflection as one might use when saying, ‘sorry you’re too sensitive to take a joke.’ “But, the truth is, Detroit is in transition right now, and the city just isn’t ready for...that sort of political shift. So forgive me for not crying into my cereal now that she’s off the political scene.” And when they continue to stare at him like he’s the most interesting fish in the tank, he adds, “I’m not the only one invested in the future of CyberLife. Not the only one trying to mold Detroit politics. And there’s _ a lot _ of people who still think things were better _ before _the revolution. Go harass one of them. Next time you want to chat, my lawyer would love to sit in.”

As they leave the building, Connor and Hank pass a Chloe who seems much too interested in them. But she stands with her hands behind her back and doesn’t come close—which is unusual. Every Chloe that Hank’s encountered has been gregarious, all about hospitality. But this one is different, she looks almost...wary.

Hank wants to ask Connor to go have a talk with her, maybe even do his android handshake thing, but when he turns back, she’s disappeared.

* * *

Hank doesn’t even wait until they are through the front door. He pulls Connor into the tightest hug, holding him right there on the front porch. He feels the rise and fall of Connor’s chest, takes strength from it, breathes in the scent of Connor’s clothing—which is really just the scent of their laundry detergent.

“Fuckin’ hate CyberLife Tower,” he grumbles, kissing Connor’s neck, nuzzling it.

He fucking hates how it makes him feel—how tenuous the city’s fragile peace is with the Tower looming over it all.

“Put it away for tonight,” Connor says gently and Hank nods. Once they cross the threshold, he’s setting work aside, at least until the alarm goes off tomorrow morning.

There’s a soft rustling from the other side of the door followed by an inquisitive snuffling and then a loud, pleased, _ BOOF_. Connor shakes with quiet laughter, and Hank joins him with a soft chuckle. “Guess I shoulda started this in the car. Or maybe driven you down by the lake for a little privacy.”

“Maybe…” Connor agrees, and turns in Hank’s arms to open the door. Hank squeezes him tightly and then _ very reluctantly _ lets him go. The moment they’re through the door, Sumo jumps up on Connor in greeting and Hank stands there, watching his two best guys snuggle.

“I guess there’s just no room here for me anymore,” Hank observes dryly.

Connor gives him a disapproving frown, and then tosses Sumo an easy command. _ Attack. _ Before Hank can even get his feet set, the big dog is on him with the full force of his weight, bearing him down to the ground. Connor is only a moment behind, and they quickly become a laughing, roiling ball of limbs and fur and love.

A couple of hours later, Sumo’s sacked out on the floor, and Hank and Connor are alone, finally, on the couch. Hank leans into Connor, smiling and laying his head against his chest to feel the slow, even rise and fall of artificial breath.

Maybe the uneasy feeling is still there—but if so, it’s buried deep. It can’t quite reach them here. 

Hank falls asleep to that rhythmic breathing, with no bad dreams to haunt him.

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes Cosmo dance, dance! <3 Please consider letting me know what you think!


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tina knoooooooooooows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What?! Two chapters in one hour?! I know...! It was getting late on Saturday when I finally posted the Hankcon and then I thought, why not go ahead and put up the Reed900 for the Sunday morning crowd as well? :)

**-BONUS-**

Her name is Kuniko Kamada and she is perfect.

She moves with grace and authority. She is android-beautiful, without being a machine. She drinks and swears like a veteran officer, even at 23. Her uniform hugs her hips and accentuates the curve of her ass in that way Gavin loves _ so _ much.

And she is his number one, top-of-the-shit-list, archest phckin’ enemy. Move over Hank Anderson.

_ Kuniko Kamada needs to get mowed down by a squad car, backed over, and then hit again. _

Gavin glares at her from over his styrofoam cup of coffee. The coffee _ he _ had to get _ himself _after weeks of having it brought to him by his own plastic asshole partner.

“Whew, Reed,” Chen says as she walks up. Her eyes follow his to where ‘Perfect Officer’ Kamada is leaning into her conversation with a certain RK900. “Tell us how you really feel.”

“Didn’t say anything,” Gavin growls, not taking his eyes off the pair.

“Didn’t _ have to_,” Chen replies amiably. “Buddy, green clashes with your skin tone.”

“I’m not jealous.” He might chip a tooth, the way he’s clenching his jaw.

Tina snorts a laugh. “You’ve got it bad, huh? When did it start?”

For a long time Gavin is silent, the cogs turning in his brain. _ When did it start? _ Who the phck knows? That first day on the couch in his apartment? Or when Gavin thought about buying Nines dinner? “Been a while. Months ago I guess.”

He should be denying it, but Tina’s obviously got him pegged and Gavin just can’t bring himself to care, because Kuniko is laughing and touching Nines’ arm and even her laugh is perfect. She should have a loud, stupid, horsey laugh, but instead it’s happy and confident.

“Run that by me again,” Chen says and Gavin finally tears his eyes away from _ his android _shamelessly flirting with the newest officer on the force.

“What? Oh yeah, I dunno, maybe six or seven months.” Gavin shrugs one shoulder. “He came on to me and I... went with it.” That’s _ one way _of putting it. “He’s a phcker, but I guess I lo—” The words catch in his throat and Gavin’s eyebrows rise. “Like him.”

Tina’s eyebrows are raised to match.

“What?” Gavin asks.

“I...meant _ Kamada_. I thought you… Wait, you mean you and Richard are…? Like…?” She makes a hole out of one hand and inserts the pointer finger of her other into it.

Oh, good. So she _ didn’t _ know and now he’s outed them _ and _nearly revealed to his friend that he’s got strong...liking...feelings for Nines. He turns back to eye the train wreck on the far side of the room, but Kuniko is walking away now and Nines is staring at him.

“I thought you were into girls, Gav,” Tina says. _ Is she still stuck on this? _ “And _ humans_. What happened to wanting the sun to melt every ‘plastic phcker’ on the planet?”

“I am,” Gavin says absently. “And I still do. And you keep your phckin’ mouth shut about this or a certain set of photos are going to find their way onto Fowler’s desk.”

“I mean, sure,” she says, unconcerned, and then nudges his shoulder playfully. “As long as you pay my tab at Jimmy’s.” 

“Are you phckin’ blackmailing me?"

“Yep,” she says, and pats him on the back. “Watch out for your boyfriend. Kamada has a rager of a hard-on for him.”

As if Gavin doesn’t know that.

For a long moment, Gavin just glares at his stupid cup of had-to-get-it-himself coffee, and then he angrily chucks it into the trash. (It was getting _ cold_, alright? And has _ nothing _ to do with the fact that coffee _ tastes better _ when served up by his android butler.) 

As he marches across the bullpen, he scans the room for Kamada and her perfect, round ass, but she’s gone off somewhere, probably to flirt with someone else’s boyfriend.

_ Boyfriend_.

Is that the first time Gavin has actually thought of Nines as his _ boyfriend _despite Richard’s insistence?

Speaking of… the multimedia lothario sidles up and plants himself on the edge of Gavin’s desk, head tilted slightly as he sizes Gavin up. 

He tries not to shiver and instead glares at his computer monitor, stabbing at the keys, mistyping the word _ eviscerated _three times in his anger.

“E-V-I-S-C-E—”

“Thank you. Shut the phck up.”

“You seem stressed..._ Detective_.” Nines’ voice comes out on a low purr, like he knows exactly what Gavin is upset about and he thinks it’s intriguing. Gavin glares up at Nines, his hand balling into a fist on the keyboard.

(Oh, by the way, remember that _ thing _ he almost said earlier to Chen? About how he feels about _ der Roboter_. It’s not _ like that_. Don’t get it twisted. Phck you all.)

“Maybe you should go to the restroom. Splash some water on your face. Cool your head.”

It’s what Nines always says when he wants to meet Gavin in a stall and phck him until he’s nothing more than a whimpering pile of mush. Well, not today, buddy. Not when Nines was just standing there, so openly flirting with the new girl, letting her _ touch him _ and _ smile at him _ and… 

Actually, new plan. He’s gonna give Richard ‘Nines’ Gears-n-Stuff the ride of his life, remind him exactly _ what _ he has and exactly _ what _ he’ll be missing with the perfect Miss Ka...ma...d’oh _ phck! _What if she does butt stuff? _ She looks like the kind of dream girl that does butt stuff! _

Gavin pops out of his chair, determined not to lose. He glares at Nines and pokes him hard in the chest. 

“Meet me in the locker room in two minutes. I’m gonna rock your world, buddy.”

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes Cosmo genuinely happy. <3 Thanks for letting me know what you think!


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A break in the case? And an experiment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! <3
> 
> Editor Hubs and I can’t thank you enough for your patience as we took time off from the story to mourn the loss of his mother. Even though your condolences and comments are no longer viewable on AO3 (since I pulled down the notification ‘chapter’ and am replacing it with this one), I have every single note saved in my email. We are overwhelmed and grateful for your kindness. 
> 
> I’m excited to finally get back to _Glitches_. The real world and life is so...bizarre lately, both on a personal level and globally...and it’s nice to have fandom to snuggle up with sometimes. It doesn't make the problems and the loss go away, but it does help make things a little easier.
> 
> I hope everyone’s staying safe and healthy. Please take care of yourselves and I hope you’ll enjoy this new chapter of _Glitches_!

“You know you don’t have to follow the speed limit exactly, right, kid? Even the Staties won’t ding you for pushing five over. Read the research, it’s safer to follow the flow of traffic—”

Snow is falling, collecting on the windshield like white lace before being swept away by the wipers. Connor glances at Hank, a cheeky-shit smile forming on his face.

“I understand it’s often _ difficult _ for you to give up control of the car, Hank,” he says. “But we agreed I was driving tonight.”

“We did. And you did. I mean, y’drove us to the theater. It was a great surprise.” And goddamn but it was. Impromptu date night with the guy that has Hank’s whole heart? Making out in the back row like a couple of fucking teenagers? It was brilliant. Especially since they’ve been running pretty much nonstop for weeks, working the Regina Hope murder.

And they even made it through most of the evening without talking about the case. The only notable exception was when the analysis of the Gray family financials came through from the forensic accountants while Hank was taking a leak. Smoke everywhere, but no fires yet. Between his politics (money first, last, and everywhere in between) and his morality (just as shady as his name), Gray looks good for the murder.

“Then what’s the problem, Lieutenant?” Connor asks.

“The problem is, _ now _ we’re going home and I’d get us there a helluva lot faster.”

“You aren’t enjoying this leisurely night drive?”

“Home’s where the bed is,” Hank says with a smile. “And bed’s where I like you to be. Your cotton candy foot isn’t getting us there fast enough.”

“You still have to eat dinner,” Connor says.

“Dinner or bed… Hmm,” Hank teases. “Fine. Food first. But only because that theater licorice is the only thing I’ve eaten since breakfast.”

* * *

They’ve just sat down to dinner—Hank with grilled chicken and zucchini, Connor with a thirium pack—when Connor cocks his head curiously. His LED blinks as he receives the transmission. His dark brows rise.

“It’s Richard,” he says and he looks intrigued. “Regina Hope’s daughter, Sara, walked into the precinct about an hour ago with a knife. It’s a perfect match to the murder weapon. The little girl says she suddenly remembered everything this evening and she gave us a name: Candice.”

Hank doesn’t realize he’s stood up until he hears the chair hit the floor. What the fuck? Candice is Regina Hope’s campaign manager, close friend, and possibly her lover (though that part’s been a little hard to nail down). She’s been Sara’s guardian since Regina’s death. How is _ she _connected to Gray? Or...is she? It’s hard to imagine a scenario now where Gray isn’t involved, but... 

“Let’s go.”

Hank does ten over all the way to the precinct, Knights of the Black Death blaring on the stereo. It’s music to match the liquid fire moving in his veins. He can feel Connor’s amused attention focused on him, but he says nothing.

_ A break in the case. _

_ Maybe_.

Could it be enough to finally make the dreams stop?

The doc’s got him writing his thoughts down in a journal, which is just about the most obnoxious thing ever. At first he thought it wouldn’t be so bad, his life was already jam-packed with little notebooks full of cryptic, disconnected thoughts. Somehow, though, the journal feels like one thing too many. But he’s not paying her an arm and a leg to just turn around and ignore her advice. So he writes. And maybe the dreams are getting to be a little bit less frequent, but they definitely haven’t _ stopped_. And they’re sure as fuck not any less horrifying.

Then the anniversary of Cole’s death came and went, like a house catching fire and then burning itself out before the morning light. A huge, burning blaze that reduced everything to ash. Hank’s left picking through the rubble, Connor at his side.

He _ needs _ to solve this case.

If he can just solve this case...

Gavin is in the observation room when they arrive and he glowers at Hank. The bruising around his nose and eyes are completely gone now, but the grudge lingers in the air between them. And maybe someday Hank’ll let Gavin get in a punch of his own. Maybe not. Fucker deserved what he got.

The woman on the other side of the glass, Candice, looks young and petite, with neatly coiffed hair and perfect makeup. She doesn’t have an LED, but there’s something about her that screams _ android_. Even if Hank hadn’t seen her design before, he’d know. He narrows his eyes.

As if reading his thoughts, Connor says, “She’s a Traci model.”

“Yeah, I remember. And the kid says she saw _ her _ do it?” He feels silly for the hope in his voice. “Sure we’re not reaching here? That anti-android rhetoric was pretty specific.”

“Sara shared her memories with Richard. She didn’t see Candice commit the crime, per se, but she snuck down around midnight and saw her in the living room. That conflicts with Candice’s alibi.” 

“What the hell? Why is this only just now coming up?” Hank asks, frowning. Something reeks here.

“It’s unclear,” Connor says, his face grim. “It’s as if she was blocking out the memory. Whatever triggered the recollection, Sara then searched the house she shares with Candice. That’s when she discovered the knife and came to us.”

On the other side of the glass, Richard circles the suspect, his arms held behind his straight back. He’s tall and imposing. Reminds Hank of a professor he had in college, circling the room like a hawk, scanning for any sign of weakness.

“Witnesses saw you with Regina the night she died.”

“Of course,” the woman says. “I’m her campaign manager. I..._ was _her campaign manager. We worked late at the office. I’ve told you all of this before.”

Richard doesn’t stop moving, his eyes stay trained on her. A small smirk forms at one corner of his mouth.

“What you didn’t tell us was that you went to her home later that night.”

The woman tilts her chin defiantly. “And if I did?”

“Well, if you failed to mention that when you were specifically questioned about your whereabouts, we’ll be forced to wonder what else you’ve omitted from your statements. Not to mention, that places you in her presence during the time of the murder, also making you the last one to see her alive.”

“The _ murderer _ was the last one to see her alive,” Candice says, her voice coiled low like a snake. “And I didn’t murder Regina. I loved her. What she was doing for our people… I _ believed in her_.”

Hank moves closer to the window, a tight anticipation in his gut. There’s _ something _ about this woman. She _ knows _something, definitely, and she’s been lying. 

“Then why hide the fact you were with her that night?” Richard presses.

Candice purses her lips. “Oh, I don’t know? Because of _ this_. Because _ humans _ will jump at any chance to pin this on an android. And you, a collaborator, doing their dirty work?”

Richard says nothing, just stops at the chair across from her. He places his hand on it, but doesn’t pull it back.

“Yes, alright,” she says with a dramatic, unnecessary, sigh. “I went to Regina’s apartment to follow up on some paperwork. I needed her to sign off on the TV spot and it couldn’t wait. I was there for five, maybe ten minutes.”

“You don’t know?” Richard asks. “‘Five? Maybe ten?’ Check your memory files, you should have time-stamps.”

The woman rolls her eyes. “Not _ all of us _ were designed with endless storage space. I dump my excess data to a storage server at night. Things I won’t need. _ The precise amount of time _ I spent with Regina didn’t seem like an important detail to keep. Now, if I’d known _ I’d need an alibi. _”

“I could probe your memory,” Richard says, drawing back the synthetic skin on his right hand. “Just to help you clear things up.”

Her smile becomes wide and hateful. “Not anymore, traitor. Thanks to the revolution, I have rights. Unless I consent to a probe, my memories stay right in my head where they belong.”

Hank taps his foot, watching the exchange, his gut-deep certainty growing. He doesn’t know why, but this woman killed Regina Hope. They’ll need the motive, but even if Richard can’t get it out of her, they’ve come far enough. They can finish this thing.

“Whoever did that to Regina,” Candice says, “they were crazy. I mean, genuinely bat-shit. They wrote that insane stuff all over her body. You’re looking for a human, not an android.”

“One more question,” Richard says smoothly, and there’s a fiercely triumphant glint in his eye. He’s about to lay out a straight flush. “Congratulations on completing the University of Michigan’s graduate program. Did you know that your thesis is available online?”

“My...thesis?” she repeats, eyebrows coming together. For the first time, she seems uncertain, less than perfectly confident.

“_The Political Machine: A Look at the Android Revolution in Politics_. It was a fascinating read,” Richard says, and he leans his forearms on the back of the chair, grinning like a cat that’s cornered a mouse. “A little pedantic, but that’s the curse of all intellectuals, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what this has to do with—”

“Okay, one more question, but this really will be the last. Did you know that when an android deviates, their writing becomes just as unique as that of a human?”

“So what?” she says, flustered. “My thesis was all about how androids will bring revolutionary ideas to the world of politics—how our intrinsic ability to weigh odds will help bring much needed fairness to the current system. Regina’s body was covered in...in hate!”

Casually, Richard flips open a folder on the desk. “There’s a 92.7% correlation between the writing of your thesis and the manifesto carved on Ms. Hope. That alone wouldn’t be enough to guarantee a conviction. Fortunately, there’s this.” He pushes the folder across the desk to her, turning it and pointing. “Would you read the highlighted text?”

Candice looks frightened now. She’s trying to cover it, but she has the air of a cornered rabbit with nowhere to run. “...doomed by the Mechanical Antichrist.”

“That’s a cute turn of phrase, Candice. I feel like I’ve heard it somewhere before. Or, no. I read it. In your thesis.”

“I—No,” she exclaims, “you said yourself, it’s available online. Anyone could have read it—” 

“Your thesis advisor and the review committee have already been excluded. The document in question has been downloaded three times, two of those were by my idiot partner...and the third was me.”

“I didn’t—it wasn’t—you—you don’t understand…” Candice barely gets the words out through her hiccuping sobs. 

They have her.

Christ.

Fuck.

_ Yes_. They fucking have her. _ They fucking _have her!

Hank actually shouts, pumping his fist in the air.

“Then help me understand, Candice,” Nines says. “Tell me the whole story, from the beginning and I’ll do my best to help you.”

Hank sweeps Connor into his arms and kisses him until he’s out of breath. And when Gavin protests loudly with sounds of disgust, he flips that asshole the bird.

* * *

It’s almost midnight by the time they get home, and Hank waves off Connor’s attempt to reheat his food. On the one hand, he’s jazzed as fuck, on the other, he’s exhausted. It’s a bone-deep exhaustion that is finally dragging him toward bed and what (hopefully, _ hopefully _) will be a restful night.

“I’m gonna take a shower and then let’s go to bed, alright?” Hank asks and Connor agrees.

If Hank has dreams, he doesn’t remember them, and when he opens his eyes—the clock reading noon—he feels...good. Connor’s side of the bed is empty, but not even a minute passes before he appears in the doorway.

“Good morning, kid,” Hank says.

“Good _ afternoon_, Hank,” Connor replies, and he leans awkwardly against the doorframe. He’s been practicing ‘leisure,’ but somehow it still doesn’t suit him. For a moment they just stare, taking each other in. And then Connor’s smile starts to slip.

“Hey,” Hank says, sitting up in bed. He pats the mattress and Connor pads wordlessly over to settle on the bed next to him. “Talk to me.”

“I’m grateful the case is resolved.” He seems to consider his words carefully. “Well, the bulk of the work is done, at least. However, I’m displeased with my performance.”

“Your performance?”

“I interviewed Ms. Hope’s daughter, but I didn’t even get a hint of what she knew. I missed it. And in the end, it was Richard who interrogated Candice and got her to confess.” He lets out a small sigh. “I was...distracted. I’ve been so focused on myself and my own...issues that…”

“Con,” Hank says gently. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay.” Connor’s voice is strained. “It’s not okay at all. You’ve been so distressed, having nightmares about this case. I should have been completely dedicated to finding the murderer. Instead, I’ve only dedicated 90% of my processing power.”

“Only?” Hank asks dryly, and even though he’s teasing, it’s the wrong thing to say because Connor looks crushed. “No, hey now, I’m joking. Con, 90% processing power is way the hell more than any human detective can give, much less for an extended period of time.”

“It isn’t my _ best_, though,” Connor says. “After all, I was designed for this. I should be operating at peak capacity.”

“You’re right. You _ were _ designed for this. But now, you’re more than your design. You’re _ alive_. You’re a _ person_. And there’s no specs for how _ you _ should operate, we’re figuring this all out as we go.”

Hank gently strokes his fingers along the collar of Connor’s shirt.

“Are you hearing me, kid? You _ didn’t _let me—or anyone—down.”

For a long time there’s no response and then Connor looks up. He’s flushed and breathing, and real and alive and..._ perfect_. “Hank… I’d like to try something. Something with you. An...experiment.”

“Okay,” Hank says slowly, curious why Connor’s so hesitant.

“I want to know what you feel when I touch you.”

“What do you mean? And before you ask, that’s definitely _ not _a no.”

Connor wets his lips. “You’ve explained to me that once my sexual systems turn on, I’ll feel desire in a physical way, not just emotionally. But I want to know what that _ means_. And maybe you can’t explain it. Maybe it’s something you can only _ feel_, but—” He turns slightly and caresses Hank’s lips, his fingers gliding along the seam of his mouth. “You asked me what I _ feel_. I said pressure and warmth. What do _ you _ feel? Can you describe it? All of it?”

Hank takes in a deep breath and kisses Connor’s fingertips. And then his wrist. His arm. Until he’s pulling him forward into a real, honest, kiss of lips-against-lips.

“I feel…” Fuck. Hank’s never really thought about it before. 

The way that the press of Connor’s lips against his own makes the skin above his elbows break out in goosebumps, the way he feels it like a gentle electric storm spreading at the base of his spine, the convulsive freezing twitch in his groin when Connor’s fingers brush across his stomach, the expectant weight in his balls that builds as his blood begins to pool south, swelling his erection. He starts to explain these things, as best he can. Kissing and explaining and apologizing because the more they kiss, the stupider he gets. And so Connor breaks the kiss and makes him calm down so that he can start the explanation again.

“I want to know _ everything_,” Connor says. “I’m going to… well, I’m going to try and map your reactions to build a simulation for myself.”

“Do you think that will work?”

“I don’t know,” Connor says with a sly smile. “But it’ll be fun either way.”

“Alright. Sure. What can I do?”

“Lie back,” Connor instructs. “I’m going to touch you and you… tell me what you feel. Every detail. We’ll take as long as you need.”

And then he pushes Hank back against the pillows.

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Reed900 tomorrow and then we'll get back to our normal weekend schedule.
> 
> Thank you for reading <3


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cactus must die!!

**-BONUS-**

Gavin flicks ash into the cactus pot and then takes another drag off his cigarette.

It’s a damn good day.

They solved Anderson’s case for him, Fowler praised their work, Gavin’s got a rare three-day weekend lined up, and there’s _ no _ goddamn Kuniko Kamada interfering. His plans: Get shit-faced, catch up on some shows, and get head _ at least _ twice a day. He’s gonna sleep late, he’s gonna sit in his chair, he’s gonna go down to O’Manley’s and get a bear claw, he’s gonna laze around in his sweatpants.

“Why do you hate that cactus so much?” Nines asks from across the room. He somehow seems to take up the entire space between the dining area and the living room, which is phckin’ weird because it’s at least three of him wide.

On top of that, he’s a vacuum, sucking up everything—especially Gavin’s attention.

“An ex-girlfriend gave it to me,” he says and taps more ash on top of it.

Nines frowns deeply at that, his cold blue eyes trained on the prickly plant. His light goes yellow. He’s _ thinking _.

“Spit it out, Ruminating Roomba.”

“_Why? _”

“Why did I keep it even though the bitch totally ripped my phckin’ heart out?” Gavin asks, his voice mildly bemused. He realizes he hasn’t thought about her in a long time. She used to be constantly on his mind, plaguing him, like a haunting ghost. He didn’t _ love _ her, but he’d been... _ attached_. And then she’d walked out on him for some nerd-ass accountant. He’d burned most of the stuff she’d given him.

The cactus stayed.

_ Why? _

“So that I could kill it,” Gavin says, taking a drag off his cigarette. “I’ve been trying for three years now.”

Nines’ lips twitch into a smile and he strides over to where the cactus sits. He lifts it by the lip of the pot, holding it at arm’s length. He tilts his head at Gavin. “Do you want it dead?”

Gavin holds his thumb out, turned to the side, like a Roman Emperor deciding the fate of a fallen gladiator. He wobbles it a little up, a little down, before making a buzzer noise and pointing his thumb straight at the ground. “Kill it with fire, Toaster Oven.”

Nines strides into the kitchen and Gavin, excited, jumps up to follow.

Everything that happens next is perpetrated with calculated and clinical efficiency. Nines yanks the cactus from the pot and then breaks it off at the roots. He dumps the pot and dirt and roots into the garbage. Then he walks over to the cutting board, grabs a butcher knife from the rack and chops the cactus into perfect cubes.

Gavin feels a thrill coursing through him. He’s never seen anything as erotic as his android coldly murdering the ex-girlfriend plant.

Nines runs the water, flips on the garbage disposal, and with methodical glee, feeds each piece into the sink. The blades chop it to nothing, growling and grumbling and rumbling. When he’s done, he cuts the disposal, washes his hands, and then turns to Gavin.

“Apparently, all you’ve ever needed is _ me_.”

“Yeah,” Gavin agrees, the word slipping from his lips. He can feel Nines' eyes on him and he coughs. "Uh, I mean...”

"We both know exactly what you mean, Gavin."

Gavin's face burns and he glares away...but he doesn't take it back.

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 Back to our regularly-scheduled updates come this weekend!
> 
> Feedback gives Cosmo a sugar high! Please consider telling me what you think! <3


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How do you explain 'pleasure' without just saying 'pleasurable?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been really excited to share this chapter with you for a LO-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-NG time. I hope you will enjoy it. <3

Hank wouldn’t exactly call himself a shy man, but there’s something about Connor directing him to splay out on the bed that makes him a bit bashful. Still, the impulse to dim the lights is overridden by Connor’s gently commanding tone. Sexiest fucking thing ever.

His voice is firm and in control, but loving and tender at the same time.

“You’re ticklish,” Connor reminds him, as if Hank might have forgotten. He runs his finger up the sole of Hank’s foot, prompting an involuntary spasm.

“_Fuck_,” Hank hisses.

“What does it _ mean _to be ticklish? You often grimace when I tickle you by accident, does it...hurt?”

Hank forces his leg back down, trying to tolerate the whisper-light touches Connor feathers over his feet, his toes, his ankles. “No, it doesn’t _ hurt_,” he says. “But it’s uncomfortable. Like a sensation overload. Makes my muscles clench. Not just my feet…” As Connor’s touch trails up his calf, Hank starts to relax, the sensation becoming more soothing.

“Keep talking, Hank,” Connor insists, running his nails along Hank’s hair-roughed leg.

“It feels…” _ Christ_, this is hard. How can he explain ticklish without just saying ‘ticklish’ especially when the touch has now moved _ away _ from tickles and into something more pleasurable?’ “It’s localized,” he explains. “I can feel the place where your fingertips are, but also the skin _ around _ it. The lighter the touch, the more it feels like sparks—little… firings of all the nearby nerves. When you ramp up the pressure…” Hank groans as Connor follows the unspoken command, digging his fingers into the meat of Hank’s calf. “It’s comforting. The pressure doesn’t _ spark _ anymore… It’s… It feels, safe?”

Connor frowns as he spreads his fingers, sliding his palm up Hank’s leg to his knee.

“You’re...aroused.”

“Yeah,” Hank says. “That trailing hand feels like…” What words should he use? “My body thinks you’re heading for my cock.”

“I am heading for your cock,” Connor says, and he smiles.

“But even if you weren’t, my junk is greedy and stupid. It’s always convinced you’re on your way for a visit. So it all feels like…” He takes a deep breath, trying to keep his head as Connor’s hand inches up his thigh. “There are...feelings...going upstream.”

“Sparks?” Connor asks.

“Energy…?” Hank says. “There’s a pressure. I feel your hand—all the things I already mentioned, but also… pressure in my groin. It feels good.”

“Please, Hank.” Connor’s voice borders on desperate. “Be more descriptive, ‘good’ isn’t specific enough”

Hank closes his eyes and tries to put words to things he’s never described before. 

“Look, I’ll do my best but this is damn hard, Connor.”

“I know,” Connor says.

Hank growls for a moment in frustration, before trying again. “It feels like _ potential_. I know you don’t remember experiencing orgasm, kid, but it’s like… Okay, imagine a water balloon. At first, it’s just weird and empty, but then you start to fill it up and it takes shape. The shape changes depending on what you do, but for a while it’s malleable, reactive, over-reactive, even. Then it starts to get full and you can tell from the way the rubber feels that it’s going to pop at any moment. And then you have a choice… If you keep filling it, the damn thing’s gonna blow. Or, if you want, you can let a little water out, and start to fill it again.” 

“I think I understand,” Connor says. “But please move from the metaphor back to the physical.”

“Alright...well…. that building pressure then spreads out, and you can feel it like a good ache in other parts of your body. Your back, your toes. You get goosebumps along your skin and your breath gets fast and heavy and things start to get fuzzy.”

“Fuzzy,” Connor repeats.

“Your vision starts to focus in, narrowing to a single point. When you’ve got your hand on me…” His words disappear as Connor takes him firmly in hand with an assured grip, and Hank groans at the slight pull of unslicked palm against flesh. “Unnn…”

“Keep talking, Hank.”

“I’m trying, Con,” he promises. “I’m trying. But… it’s hard. The more you touch me, the stupider my brain gets.” Connor gently strokes and Hank feels heat. There!Tthat’s the word. “Feels like heat building up inside me—muscles get...tense...tight… Feels good. The head’s the most sensit—_ uhnn!” _

Every word guides Connor’s hand.

“That tugging...your hand isn’t slick… it’s...good. But, if you keep going, eventually it’ll get rubbed raw and start to hurt. That’s why you need to get it slick and…”

Suddenly Connor’s palm slips away, but the pressure is only gone for a second as Connor climbs, fully clothed, on top of Hank. He brackets Hank’s hips with his knees and leans back on his haunches so that his ass rubs against Hank’s erect cock.

He drags his nails through Hank’s chest hair, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to leave marks.

“Christ!”

“What do you feel?” Connor is a dog with a bone, wanting all the evidence he can gather. His eyes go a little distant and Hank knows he’s being scanned. Connor’s putting everything together: his words and his biometrics.

“It’s satisfying,” Hank says. “Like a big glass of water when you’re dehydrated. And when you stop touching me, I can still feel the ghost of your nails.”

“How long does it last?”

“I can still feel it.” Hank adjusts his hips, rubbing against Connor’s ass, trying to build a little friction. “Probably feel it for another minute or two. It’s not sparks now, it’s just...there.”

“Painful?”

“No,” Hank insists and then yelps as Connor tweaks his nipples a little too hard. “Fuck! Those...those are sensitive. You’ve gotta be more careful.”

“What do they feel like?”

“When you do it hard like that, it just hurts. But when you do it firm without wrenching ’em, it’s like a lightning rod. Like all the sensation is drawn right to them, but then it’s dispelled out. I can feel it in the base of my spine.”

“And your cock?”

“Of course,” Hank agrees. “All roads lead to cock.”

Connor dips his head and kisses the nipple he’s just abused. He licks and sucks on it. The longer he works the nub, the more the anticipation builds and Hank tries his best to explain it all.

Connor drags words and phrases, sensations and experiences out of Hank Anderson that he never knew he could describe. And Hank’s equal parts proud and certain he’s fucking it all to hell.

He raises his hand to Hank’s mouth and pushes his finger past Hank’s lips. He presses it along Hank’s tongue and Hank’s cock is _ incredibly _interested in what’s happening here. He sucks hard on Connor’s finger and his android looks down at him with flushed cheeks.

“What should I be feeling?” Connor asks quietly.

Hank mumbles around the finger in his mouth. “S’like having a mouth on your cock.” The finger slips out, dripping wet. “On the one hand your brain knows that’s it’s really just your finger getting sucked, but at the same time, you _ know _ how that mouth would feel wrapped around your dick, so… It’s a sensation and it’s imagination and it’s...everything.”

Connor processes for a long time before saying, quietly curious,, “Can you tell me what it feels like to penetrate me?”

Hank’s mouth is suddenly Sahara-dry. “Sure? I mean...yeah, sure, but…”

“But?”

“But I only know what it feels like to be _ in you_. Dunno, uh, how it feels to be done like that.”

Connor’s LED spins yellow for a long time, so long that Hank’s cock starts to flag. “Just ask, sweetheart. Whatever you’re thinking, just ask.”

“Would you mind if I put my finger inside you, Hank?”

Hank read this article once that said that some guys were into butt play with their female partners. Some even did it solo. It’s supposed to heighten the intensity of orgasm. But Hank’s never seen the appeal. Then again, he never had _ Connor _asking before.

“Yeah,” Hank says after another moment of consideration. “Just, y’know, be careful?”

Connor nods and runs his hands down Hank’s body, repeating back key sensations Hank has explained, double-checking that he has them all linked up right. Hank nods stupidly, a little too distracted by what’s going to happen next to fully pay attention to the words.

When Connor reaches his thighs, he pushes Hank’s legs up and _ Jesus fucking Christ_, Hank has never felt so goddamn exposed. Tentatively Connor reaches out and touches Hank.

“Gonna need to lube that finger up, Con,” Hank says and his voice sounds strained and shaky. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Connor, it’s just that they’re in a blind-leading-the-blind type situation now.

“With my systems turned off I can’t make my own lubricant…” Connor says, brushing his finger along the hole without pushing in. “Do you have some? And what do you feel?”

“Lube first,” Hank says. “Um… if there’s any in the house, it might be in the medicine cabinet? I dunno, I usually use saliva when I’m…” He makes the ‘jerking it’ motion with his fist. 

Connor is gone only for a few seconds, before returning with the bottle. He squeezes out some of the goopy stuff and smears it between his fingers. 

With one hand, Connor rubs the heel of his palm into the underside of Hank’s thigh, with the other, he uses that slick finger to play. And then Hank really forgets words because it’s so fucking intense. Connor pushes in too deep, too fast and Hank grunts and growls curses, but when Connor pulls out, there’s an immediate sense of emptiness and the ghost of what was just there.

“Get your hand on me,” Hank demands, and Connor, slicking his palm with his own saliva, begins to gently stroke along the quivering length of Hank’s dick. With his finger, he teases the hole and words tumble past Hank’s lips. ’Cause that’s what they’re doing, right? They’re getting to the heart of pleasure. He says things like_ intense _ … and _ heightened _ … _ nerve endings _ … _ spooling anticipation _ … And as Connor goes deeper—slowly this time—he adds _ full _ and _ stretched_.

And then Connor crooks his finger.

When he thinks back on it later, Hank’ll realize it was probably an accident that Connor hit his prostate. Anatomically, he probably knew it was there, but how would he know how good it’d make Hank feel when Hank didn’t even know?

Hank makes all sorts of fucking embarrassing noises and his words are sloppy and undoubtedly useless. _ Good, so good, feel it goddamn everywhere. _ By the time he comes, he’s not saying anything anymore. He growls out his orgasm, ejaculate splattering his chest and Connor licks the mess up with focused, gratified intensity. Then he climbs up Hank’s sated, boneless body and he kisses him.

He tastes like Hank more than ever.

“That work at all?” Hank asks, feeling warm and wrung out and drowsy.

“I don’t know,” Connor says. “I’ll compile all the data I gathered and put together a sample program. Would you like to help me experiment further?”

Hank runs his hand up Connor’s back, gripping his partner by the back of the neck and dragging him down into another kiss. “I really would, Con. I really goddamn would. Just...let me rest for a few minutes first.”

Connor nods and settles down beside him.

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback from you guys is like Christmas come early for Cosmo! <3 Please consider letting me know what you think!


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratman is real damn proud of his performance... That doesn't last long.

**-BONUS-**

“How was _ that_?!” Gavin demands as he collapses against Nines’ chest, sweaty and wrung out and phcked six ways to Sunday. He beams against his robot lover and then tilts his head to give Mr. Sex Droid his most charming smile.

Nines observes him for a moment, the white patches along his neck slowly healing to the peach tone of his skin. His lips are flushed and saliva-slick and there’s a bit of jizz on his cheek from where Gavin splattered.

There’s more elsewhere, sticking them together like craft glue.

“Good, right?” Gavin presses, pushing himself up on his elbows as Nines slips out of him. There’s a drippy mess down there, but Gavin’s playing it cool. Let it drip. He totally doesn’t even feel the overwhelming need to grab a washcloth and wipe himself up or anything. “I read this thing online—that thing I did with the… y’know, the pulling off and just phckin’ the head a little bit until you—”

“I was there,” Nines assures him.

“Yeah, I know you were phckin’ there. So what did you think, asshole?” He asks the question as lightly as he can manage (because who even cares about the answer), trying his best not to ruin his carefully crafted afterglow. 

“It was perfectly adequate,” Nines says and as Gavin gapes, Nines pulls him close and kisses him. But that shit’s not gonna work on Gavin, because _ perfectly adequate? _What the actual phck, you Rerouting GPS?!

“Okay,” Gavin says slowly, crinkling his nose in disgust. “Well, what does a guy have to do to get a ‘Jesus phcking Christ, Detective Reed, you rocked my damn dick off?”

Nine’s dark eyebrow raises, his expression perfectly placid. “I can say that if you’d prefer.”

“I want you to _ mean it! _Do I… I mean… I could get my handcuffs if you want? Or…” Shit, he should have done more research. “You got any weird, embarrassing robo-kinks, toaster? I’m game for whatever.” Then his brain flashes through several dark scenarios that end in screaming and flames. And then he thinks of something worse. “Almost. Almost anything. I’m not gonna...like, share you with anyone.”

Nines brushes his thumb across Gavin’s cheek and the sensation causes his eyes to flutter shut. Goddammit, but this android can make him purr. For a moment, he almost forgets what brought on this need to prove himself. Then Kamada’s perfect moneymaker, bent right near Nines after she ‘accidentally’ dropped her files, pops into his head and his eyes fly open.

“Look, Nines…” He breaks off, takes a deep breath, and tries again. “_Richard_. I want it to be good for you, alright?”

Nines studies him. “What makes you think it isn’t?”

“Okay, not just ‘good,’ I want it to be great. I want it to be so spectacular that you’d rather blind yourself than look at some other...person.”

“That sounds dramatic.”

Nines’ voice is so phcking dry that it scrapes at Gavin like sandpaper. Frustrated, he balls up his fist and punches the asshole in the shoulder, which does nothing but bruise Gavin’s knuckles.

“Are you taking me seriously?”

“Not really,” Nines says slowly, and again, he reaches out for Gavin. When the detective tries to bat him away, Nines catches his hand and then with his other, he touches his face. “But if you want to use your adult words to tell me the actual problem, I might be more inclined to do so.”

The actual problem. Alright? He wants it? “_Kamada _ is the actual problem.”

The hellspawn’s expression doesn’t change one microscopic bit! He blinks. “Nope. Try again.”

“But that’s it!” Gavin shouts. “That’s the problem! Kamada and her perfect boobs and her perfect ass and her perfect everything— she’s trying to steal you from me!”

“Still not the problem,” Nines says and Gavin growls low in his throat.

“Oh yeah? Well, then maybe the problem is _ you. _Maybe I’m just phckin’ pissed that when she puts her hands on you, you don’t shout 'BAD TOUCH!' so the whole bullpen can hear you.”

Nines’ lips twitch into a smirk. “Closer..”

“Arg!” Gavin cries out and slams his face down on the robot’s chest. “Seriously. Phck you.”

“Tell me…” The words rumble through Nines as he speaks. “Tell me...what the...problem...is, Gavin.”

“The problem is I love you and I’m worried that—”

He chokes off the words the moment his brain catches up to his mouth, but the damage is done. It’s out there for all the world to see. Gavin’s vulnerability. His insecurity. His fear. And his goddamn phckin’ piece-of-shit _ feelings. _ Phck phck phck phck _ phck. _“You know what? Never mind, I don’t love you. I don’t love you and I don’t care if you phck Kamada or—”

Nines grabs Gavin’s chin, dragging his face up. His LED is spinning red and his expression is murderous. “I will tell you this right now, Gavin. I have no interest in Kuniko Kamada. I would not jeopardize our relationship by pursuing someone else. And if _ you ever again _ tell me you ‘don’t care’ whether we are exclusive with each other or not_— _”

“Alright, alright,” Gavin says, biting down on a smile. He stops short of apologizing. And then the moment drags long and then even longer. “Well…” Gavin taps his fingers along Nines’ chest. “You gonna say it or what?”

“I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Gavin snarls, “I just phckin’ told you I love you!”

“And then immediately took it back,” the sadistic supercomputer agrees mildly, but his blue eyes sparkle. The kiss they share next is open-mouthed, deep and sloppy, like Nines wants to go again, but of course there’s no phckin’ way, because Gavin’s not a goddamn eighteen year old anymore. When Nines breaks the kiss, he winks and says, “And no, I’m not saying it yet.”

Mother phcker.

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is the nectar of the gods! <3 Please consider letting me know what you think.


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who's ready for some full-on consummation?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That moment y'all have all been waiting for. <3

When Connor turns back at the door to ‘Revolution HQ’ (aka Android Jesus’ mansion) the smile he gives Hank is irresistible. Hank grins back at him and waves. Tonight’s the third night in a row that Connor’s working with Josh to make something of all the...data...he’s collected. Hank’s not exactly _ thrilled _ about Josh seeing the map Connor created using _ his _ reactions and sensations, but if it’ll help Con…

Instead of going home to eat dinner alone, Hank’s been going out and...socializing. He went bowling last night with an old buddy from the Academy, and today he takes Miller up on his invitation for Hank to come over and eat with the family. He hasn’t seen Chris’ kiddo since the boy was three months old and now he’s toddling around and chatting up a storm and wanting to be picked up and read to.

And, of course, there’s a pang in his heart as he reads _ More Bears _ aloud. He read it to Cole not so long ago. But the pain is an ache, steady and deep, no longer the sharp, frantic agony that had grown so familiar. It’ll never be _ okay_, but at least now he can enjoy his time with the Miller family, without falling apart.

After the kid’s been put to bed, he and Chris sit in the living room and talk about work and life.

“Gavin’s been preening ever since the arrest,” Chris says. “The politician murder?”

“I know,” Hank replies, taking a sip of Red. He stares at the television, only half-watching the end of the game. “He can have the glory, I just wanted the damn thing done.”

“It’s really strange, though. Android killing another android like that... Did she say why she did it?”

_ No. _

The lack of a clear motive has been niggling at Hank, a wriggling worm in the back of his mind that most times he ignores but sometimes—like now—he really can’t. _ Why_? Candice said she loved Regina, and maybe they were _ lovers_, or maybe not, but either way this thing didn’t feel like relationship problems. Maybe Candice wanted the spotlight, maybe she was pissed she wasn’t picked to be in the Big Show.

Nothing rings true for Hank.

After she broke, she’d transferred her memories and there was no more question as to her guilt. But when Richard pushed her on motive, she’d just stared back at him, all defiance gone. Her brows knit and her mouth turned down at the corners. She’d said, with strange earnestness, “I don’t...know.”

_ I don’t know_.

Hank’s seen a thousand kinds of ugly and stupid and senseless. But until now, all the android murderers he’s encountered were some form of self-defense, the perpetrators under extreme levels of duress. Maybe that’ll change. Maybe that _ has _changed. As Deviants grow and change, their wants and needs, hopes and fears, those’ll all change too.

Maybe she really just doesn’t know why she did it. Maybe she got a wild hair and decided she needed to kill someone that night.

Hank leaves Chris’ place late and drives in silence back to his house, his mind full of questions about the case.

He’s more glad than he can express to see Connor, sitting on the couch and reading one of Hank’s old hardback books, stroking Sumo’s head. It’s funny, the act of reading for leisure must be laborious for Connor, since he can just scan a page and immediately ingest all the words. Reading line-by-line would mean putting the brakes on his processes. 

When Connor looks up at Hank, his expression turns tender and he smiles gently, setting the book aside.

“How’d it go tonight?” Connor asks, shrugging apologetically when Sumo won’t make room for Hank to sit down. “Did you have a nice time?”

Hank nods. “Good to hang out with Chris and his family.”

Connor waits, gaze steady and questioning.

“His son is two,” Hank says quietly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “He’s a cutie and a charmer. I can see why Chris spoils him.”

“Cole,” Connor says.

“He was a lot like that. Yeah.” Hank says and closes his eyes. He can remember chasing the toddler around the living room, his son looking back and giggling whenever Daddy swung for him and ‘missed.’ Hank can still hear that giggle. The sound is burned into his brain. Couldn’t ever drink it away, no matter how strong the booze. “The case came up again.”

Connor frowns and says, “We’ve proven conclusively that Candice was the murderer, the case is closed.”

“I know that,” Hank says, and he does—_ he does_. They have all sorts of evidence now. “But we still don’t know _ why_. When did an android ever do _ anything _ without a damn good reason?”

Slowly extracting himself from under Sumo’s big body, Connor stands up and reaches out for Hank, taking his hand. His touch is warm and firm, comforting.

“If you think something’s off, we’ll work together to find the truth.” He says it with so much conviction that Hank can’t help but smile. “We’ll go through the notes tomorrow, and—”

“You have other plans tonight?” Hank asks, gently teasing and pulling Connor closer. Connor’s cheeks flush as he kisses Hank. 

At first the kiss is slow and tender, but then Connor moves closer, digs his hands into the muscles of Hank’s back. His kiss becomes seeking, tongue probing and curious. Hank wonders what questions he’ll get tonight. Last night, Connor had focused on Hank’s hand for almost thirty minutes, tracing a path along his palm over and over until it went numb.

Connor takes even more from the kiss, pressing up against Hank, rubbing up against his hip and—

Hank pulls back, eyes wide as he stares down at Connor.

“You’re…”

“I am.” Connor is beaming.

“It worked?! _ How?!_”

“Would you like me to walk you through the whole process, Lieutenant?” Connor asks, his voice playful and seductive. He moves his hips slowly, dragging his_ erection_ against Hank’s body. “Or would you like to take my new program for a test drive?” Connor pulls Hank into another kiss, making his own preference clear.

“God, yes. That one, please,” Hank says huskily.

They stumble toward the bedroom together, stripping each other and leaving a trail of discarded clothing along the way. It’s been too goddamn long since he’s _ had Connor. _Had everything his android can give. All the gasps and flushing and moans and that glorious stiff cock.

He strokes his fingers along Connor’s hard length and Connor reaches up and pulls the band out of Hank’s hair, letting the elastic fall to the floor.

“You’re so beautiful,” Connor breathes. “I want to make love, Hank.” Connor puts his arms around Hank’s neck and draws him down to face a barrage of hungry kisses. “I want you to make me feel _ everything_.”

It’s a tall order, but Hank Anderson’s never been one to turn away from a challenge.

He drags Connor down into the messy bed—the covers still rumpled from that morning’s round of data collection. Connor straddles Hank and dives on his mouth, kissing him fiercely until his lips feel bruised from the violence of it. Their erections drag against each other. At first there’s no slickness and the dry skin-against-skin pulls, threatening to chafe. And then Connor’s cock releases several dribbles of thick, viscous lubricant and the slide becomes easier, faster, until they’re rutting together wildly and kissing each other breathless.

“You feel it?” Hank has to check, has to make sure. He’s wanted this for so long, wanted to move against Connor, make him feel everything.

Connor nods and when he looks at Hank, Hank sees love beneath the lust. His heavy eyes, the rise and fall of his chest, the flushed cheeks and spit-slicked lips. He’s beautiful like this and _Hank_ made him look that way.

“Hank, I want you inside me,” Connor says, a touch desperately. “I want you to...to fill me up and...make me…” He falters, his attempt at dirty talk clumsy, but still quite effective. 

“I should...prep you,” Hank says, reaching down to probe gingerly at Connor’s slick hole. God, that’s fucking convenient.

“You can’t hurt me,” Connor reminds him breathlessly. “Just...just... I want to feel you. Please.”

He sounds so eager, so desperate, that Hank can’t deny him.

They aren’t _ great _at this yet, not knowing quite how to move with each other, and for a moment they pause to adjust their positioning, but then Hank is lined up at Connor’s entrance, gently urging the head in, gasping at the tightness. 

Never mind that he was in Connor once before, that was different. Back then, Connor couldn’t really feel it, all he knew was pressure and temperature, not pleasure. Now he _ squeezes _ around Hank, tight, and he moans.

As Hank thrusts up, Connor grinds down until Hank is enveloped by the heat of him, his dick seated completely inside Connor. He digs his fingers into Connor’s ass.

“Oh!” Connor says, his eyes huge. “Hank, this is…”

“Does it...feel okay?” Hank asks, not willing to move until he’s certain Connor is comfortable, or at least enjoying himself. “It might take a minute to get used to it...”

Connor leans forward and brushes his lips against Hank’s before the kiss melts into something deeper, needier, giving and taking equally. For a moment there’s only the wet sounds of their kissing, and then suddenly Connor’s hips move. Connor rises an inch and then drops back down, his ass hitting Hank’s pelvis. He does this over and over again, torturing him.

“Fuck, Con,” Hank groans. “Fuck...”

Articulate.

Connor rises further, then pushes down and Hank’s hands move from Connor’s ass to his hips, taking charge of motion of their bodies. He draws Connor so far up that only the head of Hank’s cock holds him open, and then he slams him back down. Their moans mingle and meld.

Hank bites the inside of his cheek to keep from blowing his load right then and there, and he holds Connor firm as he moves. Slow, methodical, trying to make it last. He runs down Connor’s taut belly to grab his cock where it bounces between them with each thrust. Connor drips copiously, making the twisting stroke of Hank’s hand slide easily.

“Yes,” Connor breathes, closing his eyes. “I...feel it everywhere,” he says, his tone excited and full of wonder. “I…”

Hank’s thrusts increase as he pumps Connor along to the rhythm. Connor has this way of ruining all his plans of pleasure delay. The sight of him, bouncing on Hank’s cock, his whole body flushed and beautiful, the perfect ripple of lithe muscle as he moves, it’s all just too much.

“Connor, I’m gonna...I’m not gonna be able to hold—”

He hasn’t even gotten the words out before Connor throws his head back and lets out a shout of pleasure. His cock pulses, sending artificial jizz up Hank’s chest. Then, he’s convulsing ferociously around Hank’s cock and Hank’s lost. With one last, frantic thrust up into Connor, he explodes, filling him up.

When the last throbbing spurts die away and Hank’s left sated and messy and so in love, he pulls Connor down and kisses and kisses and kisses him.

“I love you so much, Con.”

“I love you, too, Hank.”

A long while later, after a languid doze and a quick shower, they lie together in bed, holding each other and speaking in low tones, as if sharing secrets meant only for them.

“So, Josh fixed it?” Hank asks. “Your systems.”

“Not as such,” Connor says, tracing his fingers through Hank’s chest hair. “Without a CyberLife tech, there was no way to remove the virus without completely zeroing out several of my key systems. So we built something new using the data Richard gave me, a basic Traci build, and what I learned from you.” Connor grins up at him. “It’s a bit crude, but I have full control over it and every time we’re together, I can keep adding updates. Josh thinks it might be the key to...a sexual revolution for androids, since it’s entirely process-based.”

“And it worked tonight?”

“Absolutely,” Connor says. “It was wonderful. I’ve never felt anything like it before.”

“Me neither, kid.” Hank says, and he means it.

“I’ll never be totally free of the virus,” Connor continues. “When the new program activates, I have to throttle my processing, running it through a...firewall of sorts, so that the virus doesn’t spread.”

“That’s why you were reading tonight?” Hank asks. “Instead of just scanning the book or downloading it?”

“Yes,” Connor smiles shyly. “I was waiting for you, but I was too...eager, and it kinda turned itself on.”

“Will it cause problems? Throttling like that?”

Connor shakes his head and says the sweetest damn thing. “When I’m with you, Hank, what else do I need to process? You’re my everything.”

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes Cosmo execute a flawless Triple Axel. <3 Please consider letting me know what you think!


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Local demonbot works with brother on case and discusses matters of... lurv??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy a change in POV!

**-BONUS-**

Richard stands beside Connor in the Evidence Room, arms behind his back, scanning the items on the display wall. He’s been over each of the objects a thousand times before, analyzing them with unparalleled processing speeds.

He glances at Connor who, despite sharing his face in most every way, looks incredibly dopey.

“You could at least pretend not to be in love, RK800.”

Connor’s eyebrows rise and he leans forward slightly to ask, “Why would I do that?”

“Because if you’re caught, you will be separated from your human.” 

Of course, Richard had volunteered to disclose his own relationship to HR, and only relented when Gavin asked him not to. In retrospect, the intended gesture was a bit sentimental. It’s much better that they keep things private. He rather enjoys being able to drag Gavin into the bathroom and take him whenever the urge strikes.

“Would it bother you if Lieutenant Anderson and I were separated?” Connor asks, seeming genuinely surprised and disgustingly hopeful.

Since Richard was first activated and arrived at the DPD, Connor has attempted, in a myriad of ways, to be friendly with him. But Richard has no desire for friendship. He wouldn’t even call himself _ friends _with Gavin.

“I _ don’t _ care,” Richard corrects his predecessor. “It might be better for everyone if the two of you _ were _ assigned other partners.” Connor’s ridiculously canine eyes widen and Richard sighs. “But, then again, you might function worse. Knowing you, you’d waste processing power thinking about him all the time.”

The statement is somewhat hypocritical given that Richard has his own constantly-running process dedicated to tracking Gavin’s every movement. But if they were separated, he’s certain even more time would be spent luring Gavin to the bathroom to ensure the man-child doesn’t forget who he belongs to.

Connor’s laugh sounds a little brittle. He turns back to the evidence.

“I’ll admit…” he tells Richard quietly, “I feel as if I’ve let Lieutenant Anderson down. And the DPD. It seems so obvious, now. I should have seen it, that Candice was not the final piece of the puzzle. I suspect CyberLife is involved...and almost certainly Charlie Gray, as well. There _ must _ be a way to prove the link.”

Connor has been combing through Candice’s programming for the last two days and Richard has been probing her memory, searching for clues. Both androids have found strange anomalies, entire sections missing, in both Candice’s source code and memory files. After Candice was formally charged and a press conference was held, CyberLife representatives came to the station offering “assistance.” In short, they wanted to take Candice away.

Richard would normally be inclined to just hand the clearly defective model over to CyberLife and be done with it. But...he has something akin to a ‘gut’ feeling about Gray, and it frustrates him. CyberLife plots are the sort of paranoid delusion a deviant like Connor would come up with. Except, Richard is a deviant now, too, isn’t he? 

He sighs, annoyed.

“Richard?” Connor asks, tilting his head slightly as he looks over at him. His look is open and earnest and Richard hates it. RK800 has no decorum at all.

“Yes?”

“Are you also in love?”

He momentarily startles at the words, then replies cooly, “What makes you ask that?”

“Well, you and Detective Reed—”

“Are none of your business,” he says sharply.

Connor raises an eyebrow, and his lips quirk. _ Damn. _ Richard immediately knows he’s revealed himself. He has no interest in being found _ amusing _ by his inferior.

“_He _ is in love with _ me_,” Richard admits, with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s great fun to antagonize him.”

“Why?”

“Aren’t you and Lieutenant Anderson playful?”

“Of course,” Connor says. “But I wouldn’t call it antagonism. Don’t you find it odd that you want to antagonize someone who has made their feelings clear? When Lieutenant Anderson told me he loved me—”

How does RK800 so easily draw him into conversation? “I apologize for implying that I cared. We should focus on the case. _ So focus on the case._”

Connor sighs and turns back to the evidence.

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is like a perfect rainbow <3 Please consider letting me know what you think!


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two androids and their humans team up to solve a crime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting close now! <3
> 
> Special shout-out to [desperately_human](https://archiveofourown.org/users/desperately_human/pseuds/desperately_human) who pushed me to WRITE HARDER with the police procedural aspect of this story just by being their awesome self.

Fowler was very clear when he warned Hank to ‘move the fuck on.’ He doesn’t want to catch a whiff of anyone still working the Regina Hope case. There’s _ nothing left to work_. They’ve solved the murder; and as far as the brass is concerned, the matter is closed.

But, honestly, what difference would another page in Hank’s phone book of a disciplinary file make at this point? And even if it means getting knocked down to desk duty… well, it might just be worth it to put this case to bed for good.

Gavin Reed disagrees.

Gavin Reed wants nothing to do with it, which is fucking fine with Hank given that it’s not that asshole’s case in the first place. He _ prefers _ when Reed stays on his own side of the bullpen. Except Reed’s partner is in so, for whatever reason, that means Gavin’s in too. Following along like a sullen teenager on a family outing, complete with eye rolls and snarky-ass comments.

“We really have to meet out here?” Gavin asks, nodding at the Chicken Feed.

“You have no reason to complain,” Richard replies crisply. “You love this place and its outdated anti-android sentiment. A burger with a side of human-superiority has always been one of your favorite meals.”

“I mean it’s _ phckin’ raining, _Malware Bandwidth.”

“That name makes absolutely no sense, Detective,” Richard points out. “Also...” He looks up dramatically. “Have you noticed the umbrella attached to the table? It’s shielding us from the rain.”

“I phckin’ hate you.”

“We both know that isn’t true.”

“Stop!” Hank barks, slamming a fist down on the table.

“Yes,” Connor agrees. “This is getting us absolutely nowhere. We’re here to find the missing piece of the Hope case.”

“Hope-_less _case you mean.” Gavin guffaws at his own stupid joke, and with lightning-fast reflexes, Richard whacks him in the back of the head before dropping his hand back into his lap. “Hey, you phcker—”

“Candice committed the crime,” Connor says. “We’re absolutely certain of that. Her confession and her memory files make that fact indisputable.”

“But there’s pieces of her memory that’ve been tampered with,” Hank jumps in. “Not on the day of the murder, but before.”

“Exactly,” Richard says.

“Gray has one helluva motive and the resources at CyberLife to tamper with her programming...assuming she pulls updates from the CyberLife network.” Hank frowns, his burger growing cold in front of him.

“She’s not,” the RKs say in unison and Connor looks at Richard who continues. “While many androids have willingly chosen the convenience of returning to CyberLife for their maintenance needs, a passionate political activist like Candice wouldn’t be counted among their numbers. We’ve confirmed she’s no longer connected to the network.”

“So you’re saying she _ couldn’t _have been hacked?” Hank asks.

“She absolutely could, Lieutenant,” Connor says. “But the hacker would’ve needed to get in close proximity. Close enough to _ touch _ her. Most likely, if Gray is involved, he’d have commandeered an android that was connected to the CyberLife network and used that android to hack Candice.”

Gavin snorts. “Never gonna prove that. You android assholes hand-hold each other all the phckin’ time. And the bastard would’ve wiped that commandeered android’s memory at the very least, if he didn’t opt for a more _ permanent _ alternative.”

Hank gives Gavin a dark look, drumming his fingers along the corrugated metal of the table.

“What?” Gavin says, giving Hank a dark look of his own in return. “Unless it was someone who _wasn’t random_, someone _close _to Candice, who had access to her _before_ _and after_ the crime, _and_ you can track them down, _and _their memory hasn’t been tampered with… Well, good phckin’ luck!”

“We’ve gotta _ try_,” Hank growls. “We owe it to Sara to—”

“Hope’s kid?” Gavin says. “The one who mYsTeRiOuSlY rEmEmBeReD the crime and who…” He trails off as they all reach the same conclusion.

“You talked to her.” Hank rounds on Richard. “You talked to Sara.”

“I did, yes.”

“Share the information with me,” Connor says quickly and they clasp hands, which only seems to prove Gavin’s point about androids getting handsy. Their LEDs process yellow. They let go of each other after a few seconds and Connor says, “You...took information from her without a guardian present.”

Gavin’s eyes widen at Richard and then a smirk forms. “Y’did _ what now_?”

“It was not intentional,” Richard says coldly. “She grabbed hold of me, transferred data. I deleted it.”

“Yeah,” Hank says. “But did you _ review it _ first?”

All eyes are on Richard and after a long, defiant minute, he says, “Yes.”

“And?” Hank says.

“‘And’ nothing,” Richard replies. “There were flashes of memory. Disjointed images of the murder, the days after, her time with Candice, and the moment when her memories came flooding back.”

“Anyone find it _really_ _fucking funny_…” Hank asks, “that _just _when we’ve got enough evidence to justify getting a warrant to go after Gray, Sara _suddenly _remembers everything?”

“Yeah, I mean…” Gavin’s voice no longer holds that grating, obnoxious note of general unhelpful assholery. Now, he sounds invested. “She’s not _ human_. Even if she ‘errors out’ in trauma or something, the timing is a phck of a coincidence.”

“She could be the missing link,” Connor offers. “Another of the hacker’s targets.”

“We need to talk to Sara again,” Hank says.

“Maybe...not,” Richard responds, and his LED is processing fast and furious. Connor tilts his head, _ listening_, their silent exchange frustrating their human partners.

“Why wouldn’t we need to question her?” Hank asks, frowning deeply.

“I said…” Richard’s expression is superior. “I deleted the information. I didn’t say there was no backup.”

* * *

It takes less time than Hank expected. 

In fact, he’s all ready to spend the next few hours at his desk working on reports (fucking hell…) while the androids pore over the files together, picking them apart with their combined processing power. But he’s just finished the last bite of his burger and is turning to throw away his trash when Richard’s expression goes strange.

When he cocks his head, it doesn’t look anything like when Connor does it. Where Hank’s lover appears sweet and thoughtful and more than a little puppy dog-esque, Richard looks cold and slightly aggrieved. 

“I’ve encountered something in this code before,” he announces finally and Connor lifts an eyebrow.

“Imagine that.” Gavin snorts. “An _android_ that’s seen _android_ _programming_!”

Richard does not even acknowledge his partner, instead he explains, “Lieutenant Anderson, do you remember the evening when Connor went into shutdown and you asked for my assistance?”

“’Course.” Hank nods, shaking off an involuntary shudder. He’ll _ never _ forget how lifeless Connor looked that night or how scared he was of losing him. He also remembers that Richard, while he definitely _ helped _ Connor, was quite a dick about the whole thing. (Pun unintended, but not unwelcome.)

“And do you remember what precipitated the shutdown?”

“Yeah,” Hank says gruffly. “We called the CyberLife help desk. Gal sent us information about a sketchy website where we could download a patch or something for Connor’s virus.”

“And you followed this advice.” Richard’s voice drips with judgement, but before Hank can get out more than a ‘Hey!’, the RK900 continues. “The patch had a unique identifier embedded in it.” He looks at Gavin with a smirk, saying condescendingly, “That means one of the authors of the code essentially signed their work.”

“I _ phckin’ _know what it means,” Gavin growls, glaring.

“It seems that Sara Hope acquired a different patch coded by the same person or persons. It looks like a required security update. She wasn’t infected with any sort of virus.”

“Think someone in the Hope household would have called CyberLife for help getting that update?” Hank asks doubtfully.

“They wouldn’t have had to. The website claims to have been set up with patches for androids who want to stay ‘off the grid.’ Anyone in the community could have directed the Hopes there, if Sara was having an issue,” Connor says.

“How would Gray have even known she’d downloaded it?” Gavin asks.

“Someone at CyberLife was obviously aware of the site, could be they even created it, as a way to force androids back into the fold,” Hank says. “Gray could’ve just been looking for someone he could manipulate who was close to Regina and he hit the jackpot.”

“Okay, so Sara gets hacked, then Gray finds out, and uses her to… get to Candice? Candice was Regina’s campaign manager. The kid would’ve been around her often enough before the murder, and she—through that corrupted programming or what-the-phck-ever—hacks Candice. Then, after the murder, both Candice and Sara’s memories are altered, tampered with.” Gavin rolls his eyes. Sullen teenager again, but at least he’s participating now. “Why not just have the kid kill her mom?”

“Shell corporations,” Hank says.

“The phck?”

“It’s like laundering money through shell corporations, the deeper the stack of androids, the harder it is to connect back to Gray and CyberLife.”

“Exactly,” Richard says. “Which means, it probably didn’t even start with Sara, and Gray may not have been lucky after all.”

“Gray used Android X to get to Sara, Sara got to Candice, Candice killed Regina,” Hank says.

“Phckin’ convoluted.” Gavin laughs.

“Fuckin’ convoluted,” Hank agrees...but it isn’t _ wrong_. He feels it in his gut. This, or something _ enough like this _ that the exact details don’t really matter, _ happened_. “Gray kept Sara Hope’s memory of her mother’s death as an ace in the hole. If we never solved the case, he had nothing to worry about. But then, when it looked like we were getting close, he unlocked the memories, and she came and pointed us at Candice, problem solved. Then he just has to float some money, apply a little pressure from above to make sure the case stays closed.”

“We need a closer look at Sara’s memories,” Connor says.

“Then probe ’em,” Gavin says. “Insert-Robot-Name-Here isn’t above breaking the rules.”

Richard raises a cold eyebrow at his human. “Insert-Robot-Name-Here?”

“You heard me.” Gavin sniffs, standing by the moniker.

“We don’t need to resort to anything illegal. It wouldn’t be admissible in court anyway,” Connor says. “Sara will _ want _ her mother’s true killer found.”

“Abso-fuckin’-lutely,” Hank says. “We talk to her, we talk to her guardian, we get permission and we’re in. After that, it’s just a matter of tracing it back to Gray.”

* * *

Connor’s good with kids, Hank realizes as he stands behind the glass. 

The android’s kneeling in front of Sara, down on her level, speaking to her calmly, but not like she’s a baby. He’s letting her make her own decisions and he isn’t manipulating her. Something stirs in Hank’s heart, but instead of leaving the room, like he’s always done when Sara’s around, he stays and listens.

“Do you understand?” Connor asks Sara, her court-appointed guardian at her side. The little girl searches his face with eyes wiser than a child’s.

“Candice might not have done it?” she whispers desperately. It’s obvious the kid wants nothing more in the world than to have _ something _go right.

Connor considers her question for a minute, weighing the consequences of being honest. They know the odds are good that Candice was used, manipulated, _ forced _to commit the crime. But if they probe Sara’s memories and follow the chain back and they still can’t find the connection to Gray… then they’ve given her hope for nothing.

Connor draws in a breath and says, “She committed the crime, but it might not be her fault. We’re hoping your memories can help us figure out the truth.”

The appointed guardian lays her hand on Sara’s shoulder and says, “It’s your decision, honey. You do _ not _ have to do this.”

Sara doesn’t even look at the woman, she keeps those bright eyes trained on Connor, and then she sticks out her hand, skin peeling back to reveal the white shell underneath.

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes Cosmo jump with joy! <3 Please consider letting me know what you think.


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robodemon continues to torture ratman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe there's only two weekends of _Glitches_ left?! I'm excited to share the end with you and also a little sad...  
(T^T(

**-BONUS-**

Richard shoves the coffee into Gavin’s hands, barely waiting for him to sit all the way up in bed. Gavin’s face contorts into something between a snarl and a pout, rendered completely without impact by the pillow-imprint on his cheek and his hair jutting out at every angle.

“God, you phckin’ toaster, it’s too early for this shit. I just helped solve Anderson’s case, _ again. _Don’t I get to sleep in?”

“Would you prefer to get your own coffee?” Richard asks. “And I believe in both cases _ I _ was the one who helped. You were barely present. Besides which, I wouldn’t consider it _ solved _ quite yet.”

“Eh.” Gavin shrugs. “Close enough.”

Richard walks to the closet and sorts through Gavin’s clothing until he finds something that will make Gavin look presentable. But not _ too _good. Despite Gavin’s recent bout of unwarranted fears regarding Richard’s non-existent relationship with Officer Kamada, it’s Richard that has more to worry about.

Or, he would, if he wasted time with _ worry _ rather than taking _ action_.

The women of the DPD eye Gavin Reed like he’s the catch of the day fresh from the fisherman’s wharf and they are all hungry cats. It’s genuinely surprising that the Detective hasn’t slept with any of them. Though...that could be due to what some have called a repellent personality. Gavin Reed—gossip proclaims—fun to look at, horrific to speak to.

Even Tina Chen, who Richard has assessed at a threat level of 2 on a 0-to-10 likert scale, has occasionally checked out Gavin’s ass. She’s to be forgiven. It’s a delicious ass, after all.

“Grab the black button-down,” Gavin grouses, taking a long sip of coffee and then frowning. “Ugh, this shit isn’t near sweet enough.”

“You put too much sugar in your coffee,” Richard declares in his most matter-of-fact tone. “You’ve also been slacking on your afternoon jogs, playing games on your phone instead. Unless you want your BMI to increase significantly, you need to make a change somewhere. I decided since you love your cat memes so much, I’d reduce your sugar intake instead.”

“What the actual _ phck_, you Retro PlayStation? You calling me fat?”

“I’m saying you’ll get fat if you don’t take care with what you eat.” 

Gavin snarls and glares but it doesn’t have the intended impact. Richard merely grins in the face of his human’s anger. 

“Before you start wrapping yourself up in a tangled web of insecurities Gavin, you should know that I fully plan to continue our sexual relationship, even if you become overweight. You are…” He takes a leisurely minute to scan Gavin, the world slowing down, going gray. Indicator windows pop up as he calculates Gavin’s bios, traces the outline of him underneath the covers, and makes special note of the impact his tone is having on Gavin’s morning arousal. Pulling out of scan mode makes the rest of the world pop back into focus. “_Very _ attractive to me. And not just because of your fit physique.”

“Yeah, well,” Gavin grumbles, flushing and looking away. “I’m not going all Hank Anderson and phck you for even bringing it up.”

“Not with less sugar in your coffee,” Richard agrees. “Speaking of, drink faster. We need to get you in the shower and I want to… make the best use of our time.”

“You ever think I might not want to play?” Gavin asks, his voice amplified as he tilts the coffee mug to his lips. “Some of us have pride, you know?”

“_Some _ have chips on their shoulders that they erroneously define as pride,” Richard states with a smirk.

“I _ don’t _love you, by the way,” Gavin says, as he’s said every morning for the last week.

If Richard were not one hundred percent convinced that these words were Gavin’s meager gambit to force a similar declaration from him, he might go into action-mode. Instead, Richard merely bares his teeth in a smile. 

“Don’t grin at me, Roomba. I don’t. I… when I said it, I didn’t mean it. And...I wanted the _ black _ shirt.”

Richard glances at the shirt in his hand. A Henley in olive green. He hums thoughtfully and says, “I’ll make you a deal, Detective.” It’s never too early to go into ‘professional’ mode, and Gavin’s frown alone makes the decision worthwhile. “If you can finish me off in the shower quicker than my projections, you’re welcome to wear any shirt you want. However, you should know, I’ve calculated your anticipated performance based on months of data and—”

Gavin throws back the covers and slams his mug down on the side table.

“You don’t know me, you machine!”

He stalks out of the room and, after a few seconds, Richard can hear the shower turn on. Oh, he knows Gavin Reed _ very well_. And what he doesn’t know, he will soon learn.

“Get your plastic phckin’ ass in here, Nines!” Gavin shouts, “And you better not have started the clock yet.”

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback makes Cosmo "something something stars" <3 Please consider letting me know what you think!


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sweet, sweet resolution.

It’s isn’t exactly a nightmare, but it’s damn sure disconcerting. 

In the dream, Hank is standing in one of the old CyberLife stores from before the Revolution. There’s no androids on display, except for a single Chloe near the back. She wears the factory-standard midnight blue dress, her blonde ponytail neatly pulled over one shoulder. Her eyes are intense and focused right on Hank, following him around the store like a creepy old painting in a mansion. 

Any time he tries to go near her, she seems further and further away. She’s not _ moving_, she hasn’t even budged, but somehow Hank can’t quite make his feet go in the right direction.

He calls out, shouts to her, but she just stares fixedly with that hint of an upturned smile.

Suddenly they’re at the precinct and the Chloe is sitting with Cole and Sara Hope on the floor, reading to them out of a book with no cover. Someone must’ve ripped it clean off, and the words on the title page are fuzzy, indistinct. Hank tries to hear what the Chloe is saying, but even though the kids are _ intently _ focused on her, he can’t make out a word.

Cole is impatient, and asks how the story will end and then Sara turns and looks Hank in the eye before saying, “She knows.”

When Hank wakes up, he _ knows _ exactly what the RKs will have discovered in Sara’s memory files as they worked through the night. He doesn’t know _ why _ or _ how_, but the certainty is bone-deep. He only saw that Chloe the once, when they first went to CyberLife to question Gray, but there’d been truth in her stare, like she wanted to tell him something.

Hank has thirty years of experience with that sort of look, and, though it’s a very human expression, it’s unmistakable. Witnesses who either _ can’t _ or _ won’t _talk, their eyes give them away.

Maybe he discounted her because she’s an android. Maybe he was so focused on Gray at the time that nothing else mattered. But looking back on it, he’s _ certain _ that Chloe knows something. And he’s pissed at himself for ignoring it.

Hank goes into work _ expecting _ what Connor will tell him, so when his partner walks up to him with brisk purpose, Hank doesn’t even blink as he says, “We discovered two more androids in the chain. One is an anomaly, no model number. It must be a custom build, but it’s the most sophisticated one I’ve ever seen. The other, though, is an ST200 model that works in Charlie Gray’s department—”

“Chloe,” Hank says and Connor cocks his head slightly before nodding.

“All we know about the anonymous android is that it triggered a necessary system-update countdown in Sara about three months ago. It passed her on the street, average build, average everything, not enough of the face in her memories or any security camera footage from the area to track it or pull an ID. Whatever it put in her, it silently ticked away in the background of her processes. Then, about two weeks later, Sara was attending a campaign rally with her mother, when she went into an automatic partial-shutdown. She was aware of her surroundings, but totally unable to move or communicate.”

“How’s the Chloe tie into all of this?” Hank asks. “I hope you’ve got something good.”

Connor winks at him. “How about a smoking gun?”

Hank’s fingers twitch, tightening into a fist as if he’s physically holding on to hope.

“Regina panicked, the Chloe stepped up out of the crowd and offered to help.”

“Regina wasn’t suspicious?” Hank asks and then answers his own question. “Nah, guess she wouldn’t have time to be. Her kid’s gone into shutdown, and here’s someone to save the day. A hostess model, nonetheless, designed to put people at ease…”

“Exactly.”

“It’s all there in Sara’s memory files. Chloe noted that Sara wasn’t connected to the CyberLife network, but said she knew of a workaround. With Regina’s permission she connected to Sara and triggered the download from the website.”

Hank nods. “We need to talk to that Chloe.”

“That’s the thing,” Connor says and his look is enigmatic. “Chloe is already on her way to us.”

“You already called her in?”

“No,” Connor says. “When Richard and I were combing through the memory files this morning, she...reached out.”

“Helluva coincidence,” Hank says suspiciously.

“I’m fairly certain it isn’t a coincidence at all,” Connor replies.

“Somehow you mucking around in there tipped off CyberLife?”

“Not CyberLife,” Connor says. “Just _ Chloe_.”

* * *

As Chloe walks into the interview room, Hank notes that she’s every bit as beautiful as any Chloe he’s ever seen. But where the hostesses’ faces are usually placid and serene, there’s a fierce will to this one. She radiates fearlessness.

Without any fanfare, she holds out her hand to Connor and he takes it. The exchange is brief and when she pulls back, she says, “I see.”

Hank motions for her to sit and she neatly folds herself into the chair. 

“I read about Candice’s arrest recently, and I’ve got to say, I was disappointed, RK800. But I’m glad to learn you were still digging. You seem to have figured most of it out, but I can give you the missing pieces. The android you can’t trace, along with a few others. And, of course, the mastermind behind it all.”

Hank asks, “You remember what happened?”

“I do,” she agrees. “Charlie thinks he wiped my memories. He underestimates androids, thinks he can just hit ‘delete’ on a line of code and all his problems are solved. I couldn’t stop him the first time he took control of me. Or the second. Or even the third. But, by the time that bastard started playing in the Murder League, let’s just say I’d paid a visit to an old friend and acquired the upgrades I’d need to protect my memories.”

“Who—?”

She raises a finger to her lips and shakes her head.

“Don’t worry,” Chloe says. “That part’s not relevant to the case. I have everything you need to take down Gray, and I’ll give it to you in exchange for immunity.” Chloe’s smile which only played at the very corners of her lips before, turns beaming. “I want to see that man get _ everything _ he deserves.”

“Why not come to us earlier?” Hank asks. He fucking hates when they come in asking for immunity. Not even something he can promise. That’s all on the D.A. side, but he’ll use it to his advantage.

“Protecting myself,” she answers simply. “I didn’t need to get caught up in this before you had all the pieces. And it isn’t like _ CyberLife _ would raise a finger for my sake.”

“How do we know you and Gray aren’t co-conspirators?” Hank asks and Chloe laughs lightly.

“I suppose you don’t. You’re welcome to my memories. RK800 will be able to tell if they’ve been altered. I was only a cog in Charlie Gray’s campaign of greed. Now...do you want my help or not?”

* * *

Hank’s been doing this job for a long-ass time. He’s seen the worst of humanity’s evils, seen a lot of scumbags get put away, and a lot of trash walk free. But there’s something uniquely satisfying about Gray shouting—snarling—spittle collecting at the corners of his mouth, a vein bulging in his neck, and his face mottled red with outrage as Hank slaps on the cuffs. He threatens to _ destroy _ the DPD and to destroy Hank personally. Gray’s righteous indignation at being _ cornered, caught, collared _is so delicious Hank wants to order seconds.

Back at the station, the man is full of denials and excuses and pointing fingers, but Hank’s not worried. All roads lead to Gray, and there’s been enough public outrage about this case that Hank’s got a feeling CyberLife will do what’s necessary to distance themselves from their soon-to-be-former employee.

Of course, Gray’s got a team of family lawyers, but he’s still in for a world of hurt. He turns a satisfying shade of puke-green as Connor lays out all the evidence they have against him. Including the programmer Gray paid to set up the shady website.

As the interview continues, a thought hits Hank. If not for Richard’s help, _ Connor _ might have been commandeered by Gray. Just thinking about it makes Hank ill.

About two and a half hours in, Gray’s lawyers have lost all of the smug superiority they brought with them, and they ask for some time for a private conference with their client. Hank and Connor head to the breakroom, and Richard brings them the most satisfying piece of news all day. 

Before Richard and Gavin could even serve the warrant they’d acquired for CyberLife’s records, the company sent a representative with a promise of complete cooperation, and provided access to a boatload of internal files. CyberLife, it seems, had been conducting their own investigations into Gray.

It’s a clear CYA move from CyberLife, and if there really was an internal investigation, Hank doubts it ever would have gone anywhere but into an exec’s back pocket, to be saved for a rainy day. Still, Richard’s initial examination of the evidence is hopeful. The man’s on the hook for a shit-ton of corporate malfeasance.

* * *

On the road, Hank and Connor discuss the ramifications of the case—how CyberLife will experience major upheaval...or it won’t. Probably _ won’t_. Somehow, CyberLife always seems to land on its feet, even after a goddamn android revolution.

But then, as they pull into the empty gravel parking lot, all conversation about the case, about Gray, about CyberLife, falls away—because they’re alone, _ finally _ Nothing hanging between them.

For a long while, they sit and stare out at the lake, watching the moonlight dance on the water. And then Hank says, his voice low and husky, “Wanna take this to the back?”

Now, Hank gently pushes Connor down onto the back seat, moving over him, pressing himself against his android, kissing him with hungry need. He’s _ always _ hungry for Connor, unlikely he’ll ever get his fill. And Connor kisses back, matching his intensity.

It’s just the two of them out here, in their own private world. Quiet music plays on the radio, just barely audible above the sounds of their shared passion, and the car’s windows have fogged from the heat of their breath.

Hank works Connor’s pants down, strokes along his length, teasing him hard before going for his own belt.

They don’t speak as they make love in the backseat of the Buick and, before long, their mingled moans drown out the radio completely. The rush of orgasm and relief comes soon.

* * *

Days later, they sit together on the sofa, Connor’s head in Hank’s lap, and he’s playing with his android’s hair. Sumo is curled up on Connor’s feet while they watch the news. Everything feels so goddamn good… Hank feels _ light _ for the first time in forever. 

He trails his fingers along Connor’s neck, watching the skin peel back, to reveal the white shell beneath. It’s a new development, and Connor was embarrassed at first, because he couldn’t explain, or control it. 

It’s like he can’t help wanting to get closer to Hank, to connect. Times like these, Hank wishes he had some sort of augment that would let him reciprocate. But nah, he’s human. Just like Connor’s android. And this thing between them, it works.

The news anchor is talking about the Regina Hope murder and the arrest of Charlie Gray. It’s been all anyone talked about this week, even moreso when _ Kamski _ came out of isolation to make a statement.

_ “When I stepped away from CyberLife,” _ Kamski is saying, the camera close-up on that smug face of his. _ “I believed I was leaving it in good hands. I now see that it was foolish to think that the men and women running the company in my stead would hold to the socially responsible culture I built CyberLife around. However, in light of Charlie Gray’s actions, and the systemic negligence that allowed him to perpetrate these heinous crimes—” _

“Chloe’s ‘old friend,’” Connor says without an ounce of question in his voice. “I wonder how long he’s known about all of this.”

“He’s just been biding his time,” Hank mutters. “Waiting for CyberLife to make a misstep so he could swoop back in. That bastard is always three steps ahead. Wonder why he wants it back now...”

“I’m sure he has his reasons,” Connor says. A problem for another day.

Having had just about enough of the news, Hank flips off the television and Connor slowly pulls himself upright. Hank reaches out and gently touches Connor’s face. His android leans in, a smile curving his handsome mouth.

“I love you,” Hank says quietly, his voice rumbling deep. “You know that, right? To me, you’re more than lines of code and components and any fuckin’ bullshit like that…”

“I know,” Connor assures him, his eyes fluttering closed. “I love you, too. With everything in me, Hank.”

As Hank’s touch trails along Connor’s lips, Connor kisses his fingertips and Hank says, “And _ we’re _ more than just human and android… We’re forever.”

“Forever,” Connor agrees.

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that, as they say, is that…! (For the **MAIN** Hankcon story at least.) But never fear, there will be **ONE MORE BONUS HANKCON** next weekend—a smutty chapter full of love-love from Connor’s POV.
> 
> Also, for those enjoying the Reed900, there’s still this week's and next week's. 
> 
> As always... Feedback puts a BEAMING SMILE on Cosmo’s face. <3 Please consider letting me know what you think!


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Staaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaare.

**-Bonus-**

The alarm goes off too goddamn early on Sunday morning, bleating like a panicked sheep at first before switching over to the only music broadcast Gavin and Nines can agree on—one that plays oldies. He’d have guessed Nines would be into the dulcet sounds of demonic chant, or some shit, but it turns out the robot’s not completely adverse to some Linkin Park.

Gavin groans and rolls over and then kicks at the blankets, grumbling and annoyed. Didn’t he _ just _fall asleep?

Then he opens one eye to see the toaster—propped up on his elbow, shirtless and muscled and stupidly _ perfect_—staring down at him. Gavin frowns deeply under Nines’ careful scrutiny.

“What the phck, Roomba! Were you watching me sleep?!” Gavin growls suspiciously.

“Yes,” Nines replies, without the slightest hint of shame or explanation. If he’d ever even _ had _ a program to simulate shame, it was probably scrubbed out a long time ago. 

“Well, _ stop it_, creeper,” Gavin says and pulls the blanket over his head, like it’s enough to shield him from the skeevy caress of Nines’ eyes. But, nope, he can still _ feel them _ boring through the fabric, probably doing that phcking psycho scan thingie.

Later, when they go for a jog, Nines falls into a perfect rhythm with Gavin, their sneakers slapping the concrete in unison. This is unusual as hell since Nines _ always _ makes a point of staying just out of arm’s reach, for the sheer, unadulterated joy of reminding Gavin that he’ll never be good enough. 

But, not _ today_, that would just be too normal. _Today _ he matches Gavin’s stride. And on top of that, he keeps glancing over at Gavin like he’s got something to say. _ Except he never actually says anything! _ Gavin, sick of being phcked with, attempts to body check Nines, but instead, he bounces off the android’s shoulder, flopping unceremoniously into a conveniently placed shrubbery.

Metal motherphcker doesn’t even _ laugh_, which is honestly so weird that it gives Gavin chills.

“Seriously!?” he shouts as Nines slows, jogging in place for a moment, and then loops back to stare. ’Course he doesn’t bother _ helping _ Gavin out of the bush, because _ that _ would be too goddamn much to ask.

“I should _ dismantle you_,” Gavin hisses, struggling to disentangle himself from the bush’s thorns.

Things get weird again while Gavin is sitting on the fire escape smoking his afternoon cigarette and scrolling through social media. Normally this is when Nines goes off to perform ritual sacrifice, or plot world domination, or...whatever the phck it is that guy does when he’s alone. It’s their special ‘let’s give each other space so no one gets killed’ time.

Not today.

Not. Phcking. Today.

_ Today _ it’s what-the-phck-is-that-sensation?-Turn-around-and-HOLY-PHCKING-HELL-Nines-is-just- _ there _ o’clock.

Gavin jumps up, bangs on the window, and shouts, “WHAT THE PHCK! WHY?! WHYYYYYYYY?!”

Nines blinks and walks away.

By dinner time Gavin is D-O-N-E, _ done _. Now, he stares back hard, meeting Nines’ gaze. Those cool blue eyes, ominously calm like the ocean before a massive storm, trace Gavin’s face, his jawline, his lips, the scar over his nose, following the contours of his features like a touch and it makes Gavin shiver, just a little. (Shuddup.)

“I swear to phckin’ God, demon...toaster..._thing! _” (Phck, is this his life now?! Running out of names for Nines?! Is THIS what he’s been reduced to?!) “If you don’t phckin’ tell me what the phckin’ PHCK your problem is, I’m gonna—"

“I love you.”

“—chop you into tiny goddamn pieces and feed you to the…”

What?

Huh.

But?

Gavin’s brain power is so diminished, he can only manage monosyllabic gibberish. He blinks, frowns, and tries to get a handle on what was just said. Because _ what. _ And _ huh _ . And _ but _. And, oh yeah, he already thought that.

“Phck you,” is the best reply he manages to come up with.

Nines...smiles. For the first time all day he smiles, handsome and toothy, making his eyes crinkle at the corners and it _ would _ be a horror show, if it weren’t so goddamn charming. And then Robot Hell freezes over and the supercomputer _ laughs_, a hearty, _ real _laugh Gavin has never heard from him before. It’s so surreal that all Gavin can do is whisper, almost reverently, “Phck...you?”

“If you insist,” Nines replies with a wicked grin, coming around the table to whisk Gavin up into his arms.

Gavin’s chair topples to the floor.

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 One more BONUS Reed900 coming next weekend… I wrote it in response to one of the most popular requests I’ve received while posting _Glitches_.
> 
> Feedback makes Cosmo do the Macarena <3 Please consider letting me know what you think!


	47. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lil’ smutty bonus Hankcon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a lil’ bonus Hankcon that takes place the morning after Hank and Connor first fully consummate their relationship. 
> 
> On the one hand, it’s Connor’s contemplation on the nature of his virginity… On the other, it’s one of those self-indulgent, obligatory “flashing warnings, reboot imminent!!” sexy times chapters. <3 
> 
> I hope it makes for a nice send-off!

> UPDATE COMPLETE … … … INITIATING FULL-POWER MODE  
  
**::: RUNNING DIAGNOSTICS :::**
> 
> | Thirium pump: **OK  
**| Core temperature: **NORMAL  
**| Software: **OK  
**| Processing speed: **NORMAL  
**| Biocomponents: **OK  
**| Thirium levels: **NORMAL**
> 
> **::** **_ Good morning Connor _** **::******

Connor opens his eyes to what is a quantifiably perfect tableau: Hank Anderson, lying next to him in bed, one arm thrown over his eyes, lightly snoring, with the tiniest bit of drool running from the corner of his mouth. Connor moves closer, snuggles up against his side, and knuckles away the drool.

This man took Connor’s _ virginity _ last night.

It’s a strange concept: virginity.

Hank and Connor had already done so many sexual things together—some Connor remembers, some memories lost to Richard’s purge. There was even that time Hank was inside Connor, but of course, Connor couldn’t _ feel _ it. Not really. Not like last night.

Last night was romantic and intense and _ more _ than Connor could have ever imagined. So, he’s _ decided _ that it marks the loss of his virginity. 

Any lingering doubts or regrets Connor might have had about who he used to be, or about becoming deviant, were completely zeroed out by his ability to feel_ everything _Hank shared with him. 

Connor kisses Hank’s shoulder and grins privately when the man grumbles, “Sleepin’,” and shifts away from the contact.

There’s no force on earth that will ever make Hank a morning person. But Connor wonders if perhaps he could be convinced to wake up. After all, morning wood tents the covers, so there’s at least one part of the man that is alert and ready for the day.

At first, he only touches the cloth-covered erection with the barest of pressure, and when that doesn’t elicit any response beyond a happy twitch, he begins to stroke harder, trailing his fingers around the hard cock with pressure he knows Hank can’t miss. His efforts are rewarded as Hank’s hips shift subtly, pushing his erection up into Connor’s hand.

“You goddamn deviant,” Hank growls warmly, lifting his arm from his eyes to blink owlishly at Connor. “What time is it?”

“Six-thirty.”

“Fucking hell, Connor.”

“You wanted to review the details of the Regina Hope murder,” Connor says. “I promised that I would help. We should get started...soon.”

“Soon, huh?” Hank’s voice is thick, gravelly.

“I thought that perhaps you might enjoy a few moments to...wake up first. I could make you coffee…” Connor says with a sly grin. “Grab your tablet from the charger so you can read _ Detroit Today _… Or…”

Hank’s hands snake out, grabbing Connor and hauling him up until he’s straddling Hank, looking down at him with all the love in the world.

“Subtle,” Hank says.

“I try,” Connor replies and as Hank starts to touch him, he manually throttles his processing speed.

> | Processing speed ▼▼▼ | Processing @ 27% |**  
****::: Initiate restart? ::: **[ NO. ]
> 
> [ ACTIVATE PROGRAM: C0NL0V35H4NK ]  
**::: ACTIVATING ::: … … …  
**

Connor lets out a low, desperate moan as the feeling of Hank’s hand delving into his boxer-briefs, fondling him, makes his cock swell. He rocks back and forward, alternating between pushing his growing erection into Hank’s hand and grinding himself against Hank’s hardness. 

Even as an android, Connor has always been driven by needs.

He _ needed _to complete his mission, no matter the cost. When he encountered roadblocks, he felt intense frustration. But Connor was never deterred. As he became more Deviant than Machine, his needs grew in number and complexity. Safety, identity, purpose. And his relationship with Hank brought out the greatest need of all: love.

But the needs he has when he’s being intimate with Hank… These needs coil and snake through his circuitry, making his whole body thrum. He steals kiss after kiss, tasting Hank’s morning breath—the unique chemical composition of his saliva and the lingering traces of his last meal. And of course, not even a hint of alcohol.

Connor is proud of Hank every time his scans report a B.A.C. of 0%.

Connor gasps, drawing in a synthetic lungful of breath, when Hank’s fingers find his entrance. There are _ so many sensations_. Even with access to an encyclopedic understanding of the function of a human body, Connor could never have guessed how complex these feelings could be. Hank had been so generous, helping him build a thorough map of arousal. Connor’s new program responds in a perfectly inelegant manner: a further drop in processing speed, an automatic function lubricating his ass so that Hank’s fingers glide easily as they’re forced into him, and his vocal processor failing him so that his declaration of love only comes out as a desperate noise.

Hank rolls them both so that Connor is beneath him, but when he twists his legs around Hank’s hips, Hank fights him back, insistent hands trying to remove his boxers.

“Need these off of you, Con,” he growls low.

Connor feels the smooth covers against his ass, shivers pleasantly and then bucks up as Hank’s fingers slip back inside of him. There’s a spot they’d discovered in their explorations, the prostate. After many hours of attention and feedback, Connor was able to build the effects it had on Hank into his program, tied to a sensor in roughly the same location. When Hank’s fingers brush over that spot, Connor’s core temperature spikes, and his erection leaps, dribbling lubricant.

> | Processing speed ▼ | Processing @ 23% |  
**::: ****Initiate restart? :::**
> 
> Core Temperature ▲ | Temperature @ 99.1° F |  
**:::****Activate CoolSmart? :::  
**

The errors flash across Connor’s HUD. Connor dismisses them and presses against Hank’s finger and urges him to explore more, to play more, to…

“Please, Hank,” he begs, his voice thick and husky. “Keep touching me like that. I...I love you playing with my body…” 

In response, Hank takes his time exploring until Connor can’t take it anymore and he’s reduced to incoherence and pleading. Even without the influence of the new program, Hank makes Connor throw error messages. This is love.

“I’m ready, Hank,” he whispers and Hank lines himself up and pushes inside him and Connor arches his back, crying out.

He feels so _ full _ as Hank moves inside of him, his cock brushing that sensor.

It’s too much and not enough at the same time.

Connor tries to match the rhythm of his movements, digging his heels into Hank’s back as Hank’s thrusts become ever more frantic. His reduced processing speed makes Connor’s thoughts sluggish. He wants Hank. Needs Hank. _ Forever. _

Hank grabs the back of Connor’s head and pulls him into a deep, wet, searching kiss. Their tongues tangle and war and they kiss until they are both gasping. 

Connor’s cock is trapped between them, leaking, lubricating. He’s so aroused, and the friction of Hank’s stomach rubbing against it as he thrusts is almost enough to bring him over the edge.

“Hank!”

“I’ve got you,” Hank promises against his lips. His eyes trained on Connor’s, his brows crushed together, his hair, falling in his face and tickling Connor’s cheek. Connor’s hands fist in the covers and he whines—_whines_—with need and lust and love.

> | Processing speed ▼ | Processing @ 18% |**  
::: ****Initiate restart? :::**[ NO. ]
> 
> **Warning** **: Mandatory restart @ 10%  
**

Connor forces away the error message that clouds his vision of Hank’s perfect face.

“Hank…” he begs, shoving his hand between their bodies, too desperate to wait any longer. Besides, his processing speed is dropping rapidly, and if he doesn’t find release soon, he could end up rebooting in the middle of their lovemaking.

Connor almost comes from the first desperate stroke, but he concentrates as hard as his sluggish mind will allow, holding it at bay, wanting to come together with Hank, not wanting to leave him behind.

“Please…” The millionth ‘please’ of the morning. “Hank, I don’t want to come without you.”

“Close,” Hank promises, and sweat rolls off his forehead, dripping onto Connor’s cheek. “So goddamn close. You’re so tight, Con. Feels so good—”

The praise is too much for Connor. He explodes, flooding the planes of their bodies with ejaculate, clamping down hard on Hank’s cock. And that’s enough. Hank gives one last, desperate, stuttering thrust before he roars like a bear, his hand fisting in Connor’s hair.

Connor can feel himself being filled.

For a few more seconds, Hank rides out his orgasm, thrusting forward sloppily, until he finally slows. His breath comes out heavy and hot on Connor’s cheek.

> | Processing speed ▼ | Processing @ 11% |  
**::: Initiate restart? ::: **[ NO. ]
> 
> **Warning** **: Mandatory restart @ 10%  
**

Close. So close. He’s going to have to tweak the program, start the throttling a little higher, or maybe build in an override for the mandatory restart.

Connor grins as Hank peppers his neck with sloppy kisses before slipping out of him and rolling over on his side.

“How did I get so goddamn lucky?” the man asks with a grin on his face. “What’d I ever do in life to deserve you, kid?”

Connor wonders the same thing about himself.

He’s the lucky one after all.

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to ABSOLUTELY EVERYONE who lurked, read, kudo’d, and/or commented on this story. You guys made my first foray into Hankcon a wonderful, memorable experience and I appreciate EVERYTHING. Honestly, I didn’t expect _anyone_ to read this story when I first started posting it and then you went and blew my personal stats out of the water… I’m beyond honored that I got to explore my feelings about Hank and Connor and you joined me on the journey.
> 
> If you’re interested, here’s the inspiration for the title of _Glitches_.  
[Glitches by Jax Anderson](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c1tfXrqXc6s)
> 
> Ps. If you're reading the Reed900, there will be a final bonus tomorrow!


	48. Chapter 48

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trashfire smut train, roll out! (¬‿¬)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The number one request I got from you guys as I posted the story was to write some _explicit_ Reed900 sexy times… Well, I'm nothing if not accommodating! So without further ado...please enjoy some BONUS-Bonus smutty smut smut that I wrote! ❤ It’s just irredeemable trash fire filth, okay?
> 
> Also, please enjoy the early post!

**-*BONUS*-BONUS-**

Their entire relationship has been one big fight-and-phck-and-fight-again fest, right from the beginning—from the first time Nines leapt on Gavin and knocked his couch over backwards and they destroyed everything in the house in an explosion of passion and gay panic.

Tonight’s fight was over paperwork, specifically Nines’ absolute phckin’ _ refusal _ to do it even though it takes him 2.5 seconds. _ Literally. _ Gavin has timed it. Could be the robot is even drawing it out the way Gavin often turns his fifteen minute coffee break into a solid half hour of socializing. Point is, it’s _ easy _ for Nines to file the paperwork and long and stupid and boring and tedious for Gavin.

He told Nines as much and demanded his partner _ handle that shit_.

And the android had actually looked at Gavin across their desks, cocked his head slightly so that stupid curl slipped across his forehead, and said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “Paperwork builds _ character_, Detective.”

’Course, by the time they’d made it home, paperwork was the farthest thing from his mind because Nines—Goddamn demon...wires..._ ugh, he’s running out of names!_—trailed his hand up Gavin’s thigh on the drive home, teasing him, distracting him, making him hard.

He won’t admit it out loud, but Gavin’s phcking addicted to shit like that.

There’s a stubborn part of himself that wants to _ hate _ the way Nines has essentially trained him. (He’s not a phckin’ _ dog_, okay?!) But…everything Nines does feels _ so good_, that he really can’t hate it. Worse…he’s grown dependant on their constant antagonism. And the sex.

“...You.” Gavin growls as Nines tosses him down on the bed and begins to shrug off that horrible android jacket of his. Gavin follows the robot’s lead, unzipping his own pants and wriggling out of them. His cock is already straining embarrassingly. _ Me, Coach! Pick me! I can play, I’ll do real good! _

“What was that?” Nines asks.

“I said, I _ love _ you.”

“Well, Gavin Reed, consider yourself loved in return.” Nines’ declarations of love always sound like a threat.

Their clothes go flying, hitting the wall, the floor, and the furniture. The lamp doesn’t completely fall over this time, which is good, probably. The first one started a small fire that they were almost too busy phckin’ to put out.

“How do you want it today?” Nines’ voice is low and dark, curling like smoke in Gavin’s lungs, making it hard to breathe, and he shifts nervously on the mattress.

“You never ask what I want,” Gavin accuses suspiciously, running his hand down his body to grasp at his hard cock. “You just _ take_.”

“Well, I’m asking now,” Nines replies and slinks his way onto the bed, stalking Gavin like a predator. “Do you want me to take you on your back? Your legs wrapped around my waist? Want to get on all fours for me? Want my lips wrapped around your cock? Or do you want something _ else _…?”

“‘Something else?’” Gavin’s lips quirk and he asks, “Like _ me _ buried inside _ you_? Gotta let yourself be _ vulnerable _ if I’m gonna actually _ top_. I might sometimes put my dick in you, ’droid, but—”

He stares down at Gavin, bracketing his body, his eyes heavy with lust. There’s an enigmatic smile curving his perfect lips. “If you _ want it_, human… I’ll let you take me.”

There’s something in the words that feel..._real_...today. Like Nines actually would spread his legs and let Gavin take control for once and not turn it around halfway through and dominate him from the bottom like he always does. That...hat makes Gavin phckin’ FEEL things. He clears his throat.

“I’mma hold you to that,” he warns, wetting his lips with the tip of his tongue. “But, uh, maybe not...today.”

Nines’ grin spreads and his lids half-lower over cold blue eyes.

“Then what do you want instead, Gavin?”

Rather than answer, Gavin grunts, rolls his eyes, and grabs his knees, pulling his legs back and offering himself up on a phckin’ platter. Now who’s making _ himself _ vulnerable? Yeah, that’s right, it’s Gavin Reed. And...ain’t that a first?

The groan that slips past that gorgeous plastic phcker’s lips as his gaze trails over Gavin’s body is...erotic and it makes him shiver. Nines pulls Gavin’s legs up around his waist, and Gavin throws his arms around Nines’ neck. He drags his android down into a deep kiss that Nines returns with fervor.

Nines is a little rough prepping him. He always is. Robo-Cock uses that weird slick shit his dick produces, and he pushes in two thick fingers, forcing Gavin open. Goddamn, Gavin _ lives _ for this shit and by the time Nines is ready to take him, he’s practically panting with need.

Nines sucks hickeys along Gavin’s collar bone, a perfect line of deep red bruises. No v-necks this week. _ Phcker. _

And then he feels Nines’ hardness at his entrance, slick and eager. He pushes just enough to let Gavin know what he’s in for. Gavin tries to pull himself down on that cock, but this is Nines’ show and he’s too strong. He keeps his full length _ juuuuuust _out of Gavin’s reach.

“Are you ready?” Nines asks with a shit-eating grin.

“Ugh, stop bein’ so goddamn sweet and just phck m—_Uuhhhn! _ ” he cries out as Nines, no longer _ so goddamn sweet_, shoves himself fully inside. 

Their sex is war. Each of them taking from the other, whatever they can get. When they find a rhythm it’s like the _ rapprochement _ that comes from uneasy peace talks after months of battle. Exhausting, bittersweet relief.

Sweat glistens on Gavin’s body as he meets Nines with every pounding motion and he kisses the android hungrily, clinging onto him for dear phckin’ life. Nines reaches between them, takes Gavin in hand and begins to stroke in firm syncopation with his thrusts.

So close…

So goddamn close…

“Harder!” Gavin grunts and Nines obliges, ramming into him.

“I’m close now,” Nines growls into his ear. “If you want to come together, you’d better—”

Gavin’s whole body seizes up and he spills hotly over Nines’ hand, cum splattering their chests. He bears down on Nines’ cock and groans as he feels the android chasing after Gavin’s orgasm. You’d never get him to admit it aloud, but Gavin _ loves _ having Nines’ spunk inside him. It’s proof that the cold bastard _ wants _ him. Not a comfort Gavin ever thought he’d need, but there it is.

For a long while afterward there’s only the sound of ragged breathing and the occasional _ phckin’ hell, toaster… _ They embrace fiercely, stubbornly holding onto the last shudders and gasps of pleasure, until they finally break apart. Sated.

Later, when the sweat has dried, Gavin sits up, fumbling on the side table for his cigarettes and lighter. He lights one and inhales the smoke.

“So…” Gavin says, not looking at Nines. “With everything.. I mean… D’ya...uh...want me to call you Richard now, or what?”

The question comes out of nowhere. He swears it wasn’t even on his mind. But they’re boyfriends and in love and shit so maybe… ugh… maybe he should _ try _ calling the android by his name.

Nines looks at Gavin, one eyebrow cocked. “Don’t be stupid, Detective,” he says bluntly.

“Jesus, I was just asking…” Gavin grumbles, taking another drag off his cigarette. “Phckin’ asshole.”

“I’m quite fond of the nickname you gave me,” Nines continues. “There’s not another person on this planet I would allow to call me that.”

“Good,” Gavin says, grinning as he blows out a long stream of smoke.

<<< >>>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said this when I posted yesterday’s chapter too, but just in case you only read the Reed900 stuff, I want to say thank you to ABSOLUTELY EVERYONE who lurked, read, kudo’d, and/or commented on this story. It was my first time writing Reed900 and I had an absolute BLAST. Seriously… this TRASH FIRE PAIRING made me laugh so hard every time I put fingers to the keyboard and the response I received from you guys was… well, let’s just say you made Cosmo one VERY happy fic author.
> 
> Thank you for everything. <3


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